Growing, Healing
by TheGoodPA
Summary: Shaun's life and stories in between the death of his brother, and his arrival for residency at St. Bonaventure.
1. Alone

_I don't really know why I'm writing this. I guess I should start off by saying that I am on the autism spectrum, and I'm also currently working in the medical field while waiting for Physician Assistant School to start in 2019. Unfortunately, I had a bit of a difficult past with my diagnosis, much like Shaun Murphy. I wanted to put into words how my brain works, how I think through things, how I see and interpret things for those who may not understand what autism is. Or what it's like to have it. I'm also hoping that this will aid me in being more open about my own diagnosis, since sometimes I'm afraid of the stigma that comes along with people knowing. Let's destroy the stigma. Please read to see Shaun's story through my own spectrum eyes._

…

One week. 7 days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes.

One week since Steve didn't open his eyes on that silver table in the small white room, even though the tall doctors were giving him shock after shock on his heart.

Seven days since the nice policeman sat on the bench, offering a shoulder pat, saying "the first of everything after a death is the hardest".

One hundred sixty eight hours of being carefully observed by the quiet doctor who wasn't wearing a white coat while they were in the house and who offered to be there if there was any desire to talk about what happened.

Ten thousand eighty minutes of feeling alone, alone, alone. Guilt. Intense, squeezing, gripping fear.

Shaun lay in his new bed, staring up into the darkness, head turned slightly towards the window. He couldn't sleep. Again. He never realized that this was truly the first time in his life that he was ever sleeping alone—at home he knew Steve was right above him in their bunk bed, in their little bus he knew Steve was right there beside him on their old and makeshift mattress. Now where was he? Was he up there in Heaven, resting happily with some other kid? Was he feeling lonely too? Did he at least have their pet bunny there to hold if he was missing Shaun? He glanced at the digital clock on the little table near the bed. 9:19pm. It was the exact minute that they pronounced Steve dead at the hospital. The exact minute Shaun was whisked out of the room by a nurse and put into another, a separate one. Shaun could feel his chest start to tighten like it always did when he began to cry. But as hard as he waited for the tears to come, they never did. He felt like his eyes had dried up—like they couldn't make any more tears. Shaun gasped out to release the building pressure. The panic was coming. The fear was beginning to grip even harder. What was Shaun going to do? Would he ever have to go back and face his parents? What if they blamed him for Steve's death? What if—

The door to his room opened silently, letting a soft beam of the hallway light into the darkness. Startled, Shaun looked over wildly. It was Dr. Glassman, his new temporary caregiver. The quiet doctor looked worried in the dimness. He noticed Shaun was still wide awake. His hands were pulling on his thick brown hair, without him even knowing. Dr. Glassman slowly sat down on the bed. Shaun retracted his limbs into himself a little. The man sighed gently. "I figured you still wouldn't be sleeping." Shaun's fingers nervously rubbed against one another. Was he in trouble? "Shaun, it's understandable. You're devastated. I know. I've lost people that were close to me before too, and it's…unbearable. I know that sleep is probably the last thing on your mind." Shaun glanced back at the window, unable to fully focus on one particular place. But Dr. Glassman wasn't going to give up. "Shaun, you can talk to me. You don't have to tell me everything. But I need you to know that from here on out…you're safe here. I'm not going to let anyone come for you. You're going to stay here, in this house, and finish growing up. I'll be here for you always. I get it, it's hard to adjust. Your world turned upside down. Let me help you…reorient. Let go of the fears you've had on your mind. I've got you, Shaun."

Upon hearing this outpouring of trust, compassion, empathy, Shaun finally felt the hot tears running from his eyes. A long silence passed. "It's…It's my fault." he stammered through a strained voice. Dr. Glassman reach out and grabbed Shaun's hand, which he immediately pulled away from. "Shaun, no. No. Don't you ever think that. It was an accident, a freak accident. You had nothing to do with what happened. You actually did the right thing—you called for help. And I'm so proud of you, Shaun. I'm so glad you're so smart and so brave." he said. Shaun closed his eyes, not wanting to face the person who was telling him that he was strong and brave when deep down he felt nothing of the sort. Dr. Glassman gently touched Shaun's shoulder as he stood up from the bed. "He's in Heaven. And he'll always be watching over you. He's going to help you do great things." he told him. "He's up there…" He tucked the blankets a little closer to the boy. "…and I'm right here." Dr. Glassman stood for a moment over Shaun, holding his breath as the boy took all of this in. For a brief moment, their eyes met in the low light. "Ok," Shaun squeaked out in a whisper. Dr. Glassman sighed in relief. It was progress—he could work with that.

Closing the bedroom door softly, Dr. Glassman made his way down the hall to his office room, where he picked up the new book he'd just begun reading only a few days prior. Laid out across his usually neat and straightened desk were pages and pages of behavioral research studies, charts, graphs. A specialized neurologist, he was accustomed to reading about neurotypical functions and the prevalence of neurological abnormalities in children and adults. He just had to begin to learn how to take all of that knowledge—those skills, those figures, those studies—and combine it with applied behavioral therapy for a neurodivergent child. And so as he sat down in his chair, he opened the book to the place he'd left off. A book he never thought he would be reading at his present age; Parenting and Gaining Trust in a Child with Autism.

Shaun turned over onto his side in his bed. The digital clock now read 9:42. Thirteen minutes. Thirteen minutes had passed. The first week without Steve was over—he was moving into the second week now. It wouldn't be as hard. Would it? It had already been 10,093 turns of the little hand on the clock without Steve. Shaun was now thirteen minutes into a new week. Thirteen minutes into a huge adjustment. Thirteen minutes into new challenges, new rewards. Thirteen minutes into the beginning of a new life.


	2. Presents

_Thanks for continuing to read. The holidays are usually a great time for me because I love a lot of aspects of familiarity and constants from year to year. The same music playing, the same smells in the grocery store, wearing the same winter clothes. However it often becomes a little overwhelming if taken in all at once. Just wanted to write a short glimpse into what that can feel like for an autistic person._

...

The holidays were an odd time.

Of course, it was usually a happy time because there was presents and food and familiar tunes playing everywhere.

But along with that came bright flashy lights, shiny orbs on trees, crowds, songs too high in pitch, those stupid squeaky jingle _bells_ , and glitter. So much glitter. Everywhere.

But this holiday season was going to be a lot different for Shaun, being in a new home. He wasn't sure what to even expect. Thanksgiving was…normal? Better? He wasn't really sure. Dr. Glassman had brought him to a Thanksgiving dinner at the Center for Neurology and Neurosurgery which was attached to the hospital in which he worked. Because the staff there was working, they decided to have a "family" dinner which was catered and around for the whole day, for eating in between seeing patients. Dr. Glassman brought Shaun along with him to let him experience the sort of work they did in a doctor's office. He'd noticed immediately that Shaun enjoyed science—specifically, medical textbooks and encyclopedias. So when Shaun spent the day at the Neurology Thanksgiving, he found a quiet room that wasn't occupied by any nurses or doctors or patients, and he grabbed a book off of Dr. Glassman's desk. To him, it was the first and only thanksgiving he'd actually somewhat enjoyed in his life. No yucky foods being forced onto his plate, no loud chatter, no family members badgering him for hugs, and no, _no_ mashed sweet potato casserole. God how he hated mashed sweet potato casserole. To get all excited about seeing a dish full of roasted marshmallows, only to dig a spoon in and find that disgusting orange mud underneath….It was life's greatest blow.

So getting to relax and spend a holiday actually feeling comfortable was a nice change so far. However, Shaun was nervous for Christmas. Never before had he celebrated Hanukkah, yet Dr. Glassman had introduced him to some of the traditions without pushing him too deep. Getting a small present each day was quite fun. But Shaun wasn't really a fan of the foods he'd tried during that time. Thankfully, they didn't have to go to any big parties or anything like that—Dr. Glassman introduced him to the customs quietly at home. But especially from what Shaun saw, Hanukkah and Christmas were two very different things.

On this particular day, Shaun and Dr. Glassman were walking through a busy shopping mall (much to the boy's dismay) in search of a new warm coat. All the noise, lights, smells, _people_ … it really started to become too much. Dr. Glassman noticed Shaun was beginning to walk hunched. "I know," he said. "I know this probably isn't your favorite place to be. But I needed you to come with me in order for me to get you the right size." Shaun didn't reply. He drew his hands together and rubbed them together nervously. Dr. Glassman attempted to place a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, but was met with a pull away and a soft "Nnnn…" This wasn't going to be easy. Especially since there were days where both felt like they were on each other's very last nerve—like neither one was listening to—

Shaun suddenly stopped walking directly in front of the photography area where young kids were getting their Christmas picture taken with Santa Claus. "Come on," Dr. Glassman tried to ease him along. But Shaun was fixated on something—staring hard, unable to let it go. It dawned on Dr. Glassman that just as he'd read, kids with autism like Shaun didn't fully "grow up" inside, and still held onto childhood things. Did he still believe in Santa? At fourteen years old? Did he ever start believing in Santa? Shaun continued to stare intensely. "Are you alr—" Dr. Glassman didn't even get to finish his sentence before Shaun stamped his foot on the ground, hard. And then again. So began the wringing of his hands, gasping for breath, pacing. People began to send looks his way. Dr. Glassman reached out to stop Shaun and attempt to grasp his shoulders. It didn't last long, because Shaun let out a short frustrated cry and threw himself on the floor. He rocked himself. He panted. He held his arms close to his chest. It was clear now that he was crying and the labored breathing only made it sound like sobs. He began beating his hands against the cold tile floor. Dr. Glassman, feeling panicked himself and also quite embarrassed, got down on the floor with Shaun, desperately trying to grab him in such a way that would end his fit. "Stop it, Shaun, stop this. Come here. Shaun you're ok, it's ok. Just stop. Calm down." His attempts at soothing the boy were getting nowhere. Somehow, he managed to get arms around Shaun's chest, and he used his strength to pull him up and hug him tight. Shaun kicked his feet, still fighting an invisible battle. "Shaun," Dr. Glassman said, giving him another warm squeeze. "Shaun count with me. Count with me. 1…2…3…4…5…6…"

Shaun's tantrum slowed, the sudden interest in the rhythmic pattern preoccupied his racing brain. What were they counting? The number of lights on the strand that was wrapped around the plastic gate? The number of red berries on the wreath hanging nearby? How many people were wearing brown shoes? "…11…12…13…14…" Dr. Glassman went on, still allowing Shaun room to rock himself, but not letting go of his grasp on the boy. "Ok…good. Good boy. Shh…it's alright. It's ok. Relax." Suddenly, Shaun realized what had happened and he instantly got a pit in his stomach. His face melted from that of rage into complete tears. And everyone was staring. Everyone. Dr. Glassman calmly eased the boy to standing up, where he took his hand and led the slumping child out towards the nearest exit.

Shaun was still in tears, and when they made it outside to the icy air, he collapsed onto a bench and turned his head away from Dr. Glassman, who sat beside him. He took his own scarf off and wrapped it over Shaun's shoulders like a blanket. "It's ok," he said softly. "You don't have to talk about it." Several silent, frigid moments passed. Finally, Shaun took a deep breath. "Y-You can p-put me away." he quietly murmured. Dr. Glassman looked at him. "What was that?"

"I said…you can put me away."

"What do you mean?"

"I-I know. Dad always said if I kept being bad…he would send me to the nuthouse."

"You think I would ever do that to you, Shaun?"

"Y-You should. I'm being very bad. I'm very bad." Shaun smacked the back of his own hand twice before Dr. Glassman could grab it to stop him

"Shaun…you're going through the most difficult period of your entire life. You lost your home, you lost the person you were closest to, and now you have to learn to adjust to living with an old man you hardly know. It's overwhelming, I get it. You're allowed to have times where you're just inexplicably upset."

"Santa isn't real."

"What makes you say that?"

"If he was real…he could bring me back Steve. He could bring me back my bunny. Because those are the only things I want."

Dr. Glassman felt his heart hurting inside for this poor, helpless boy. He felt at a loss for words. He just let out a sigh, still holding onto Shaun's hand. After a few minutes, he felt Shaun slide a little closer and lean against his arm. "I'm sorry," he quietly said. Dr. Glassman shook his head. "Don't apologize Shaun. We're figuring this out together." A wind swept past, causing the both of them to shiver a bit. Dr. Glassman found himself chuckling slightly. "Shaun, how about we go back home, get some hot coco, and I'll measure you and just order your coat online. Does that sound good?" he asked, receiving a nod from his little one. Together they stood, and headed out to the car. Shaun didn't understand why he was still going to get hot chocolate, and he hadn't yet gotten hit for having a meltdown. But then again, the man didn't seem like the type that would hit him or hurt him. Still wary, Shaun kept an eye on the doctor to make sure no surprises came.

However just a few days later, on Christmas morning, Shaun did get surprised. There was a small plastic Christmas tree with very few ornaments sitting on the corner of the coffee table, and under it was three boxes, wrapped in brown paper but with colorful bows. He cautiously edged down the stairs, catching Dr. Glassman's attention as he was drinking his coffee. "Merry Christmas, Shaun." he said. Shaun quietly sat down in front of the presents. Dr. Glassman smiled. "Yes, they're all for you." he encouraged. Shaun needed no further instruction to begin tearing open the paper to find out what was inside. He really hadn't expected to get any presents this year. Inside the first box was a small kit containing little plastic molecules, allowing him to build and create his own. Inside the second was a book about human anatomy—his very own. And in the third box…there was a soft stuffed rabbit toy that was quite heavy but didn't have any scratchy tags or hard eyes. "I couldn't bring your bunny back, Shaun. But I thought maybe this one could help." Dr. Glassman explained. The rabbit was weighted, which he'd read could often be used to help children with autism calm down and sleep. Shaun hugged it close. He even gave a little smile. Seeing the joyful reaction made Dr. Glassman's heart leap, and he gave a little chuckle. "I tried my best to decorate, but I'm…not really used to the whole Christmas thing yet." he said. Shaun looked up at him briefly, then back down at his bunny. "It's ok," he replied. "We're figuring this out together."


	3. Cotton

Shaun had been drastically improving in his schoolwork since he'd begun living with Dr. Glassman. It wasn't that he was receiving any extra help or additional time or grade compensation—he just felt like he had more space. More space for his books, his thoughts. Of course every day was still a challenge. Getting up every morning and facing the realization that it had been months and months since Steve's accident was seemingly never going to get easier. Days at school were harder. The other kids had been lightly briefed that Steve Murphy would not be returning to the classroom because he was killed in a tragic accident, and that it was requested that they give Shaun some time and space to process this major upset in life. But after only a few weeks, that stopped happening. And now he had no one to come save him.

Space. He just wanted space.

So when he came home from school one day to find a new desk in his room from Dr. Glassman, Shaun started to feel like he was a bit more in control of his space. And that's just what his caregiver had hoped for. Shaun spent hours lining everything up perfectly on his desk. Dr. Glassman afforded him as much time as he needed. He was beginning to understand Shaun's dependence on routines and systems—which is why to help with his grades (and behavior) at school, he promised Shaun that if he had good reports from his teachers consistently throughout the week, they could go get a treat on Friday nights. Ice cream seemed to be a favorite. Even though it was cold outside and often stormy, Dr. Glassman and Shaun would go to the same ice cream place every week and order a sundae or a hot chocolate. Because of this reward system, Shaun's performance began to improve.

Of course, there were bad days too.

Sometimes Shaun would get home from school and be a complete emotional wreck. He'd climb into Dr. Glassman's car, slam the door shut, put his head to his knees and just gasp and hyperventilate and cry and repeat unintelligible things. The first time this happened, Dr. Glassman immediately pulled over and tried to console his little friend. But that seemed to only make things worse. Through trial and error, he found that the best way to calm Shaun on his bad days was to keep driving home, only offering gentle encouragement every now and then. Letting him "cry it out" was all he knew how to do at this point. Usually by the time they got home, Shaun would just run to his room and shut the door, and not come out until Dr. Glassman encouraged him to come to dinner. Then, while at dinner, he would give bits and pieces about what had him so upset. Having meltdowns at the end of the day were bad, but not nearly as challenging as when they'd occur first thing in the morning. That's when Shaun would refuse to eat, he wouldn't get dressed, he would scream at his socks and shoes and throw the pillows off the sofas in frustration. Dr. Glassman realized that raising his voice at the boy only made things worse. And he certainly would never, ever hit him for behaving in such a way. Long, sleepless nights of studying up on autism and examining their everyday routines led Dr. Glassman to take a closer look at what really made Shaun upset and why.

Like a jolt of electricity one night, it came to him. The alarm clock. Shaun didn't respond well to waking up with the alarm clock.

A loud, bursting, unexpected blast of sound first thing in the morning to awaken a boy who'd just fallen asleep only a few hours prior was no way to begin the day. That night, Dr. Glassman had flown out of bed and hurried to Shaun's room, immediately turning off the digital clock in the room and instead setting his own, so that he could wake up a little earlier and get Shaun up himself. And like magic, the frequency of morning tantrums began to decrease. Shaun liked it much better to be woken up by a light tapping on his arm, or a hand stroking his hair calmly. No more surprise and loud noises. He liked when Dr. Glassman was quiet and gentle with him. It made that little tiny running motor in the front part of his brain go from running 110 mph to only about 50 mph. Of course, verbalizing this was hard. So he began to work harder on controlling his temper in the mornings and focusing on getting his tasks done to get through the day.

The sensitivity to sound, however, could not and would not change.

So on this night, right at the very beginning of the summer season, Shaun laid awake in his bed. He felt there was a buzzing around him—an electricity. It bothered him. It made his skin tingle and his eyes hurt. Thunder rumbled off in the distant clouds. His heart sank. Storms were the _worst_. And of course he didn't want Dr. Glassman to know he was scared of storms. He didn't want to look like a baby. He valued so much how his new caregiver treated him like a normal teenager and just worked with him instead of pushing him. He didn't want to ruin that. Lightning flashed. Shaun turned his back to the window and drew the covers up closer to him. Ignore it, ignore it. You're inside. The lightning can't hurt you. Shaun rubbed his arms with his hands. The panic was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. More thunder. The rain began falling against the window—each drop was sharp and it felt like someone was tapping his skull with a nail every time it made a noise. The skin at the back of Shaun's head got prickly and uncomfortable. Shaun clapped his hands to his temples repeatedly in an attempt to block out the sounds and the sensation. The rain was picking up with the intensity of the thunder.

Dr. Glassman was sitting out in his office area, the weather channel playing softly on the television in the background as he was reviewing and inputting some recent scans into his patients' charts. It was late, but he didn't mind staying up a little later to get his work done. He was actually feeling a little relieved because though it took an hour and a half, he finally had gotten Shaun to eat more than seven bites of food at dinner. It was worth every second though. Shaun was desperately thin and yet a very picky eater. Even encouraging him with dessert to eat more dinner hadn't been working. But taking the extra time just to sit there at the table with him and calmly request that he eat was well worth it. Dr. Glassman's patience was tested daily with this boy. He was surprised at how well he'd been managing himself lately.

Dr. Glassman thought he heard a small shuffling sound behind him in the doorway. _It must be the rain,_ he told himself. Adjusting his glasses, he glanced at one of the MRI images he'd pulled up on his computer screen. Just as he was deep into thought, he heard another soft sound behind him. "N-N-N…" He turned around. There was Shaun, his cheeks glowing red, his brown hair a mess, his face drawn with worry. "Shaun," Dr. Glassman said. "Is everything alright? What are you doing out of bed? I-I thought you were sleeping." Shaun's eyes darted around the room, squeezing closed when another clap of thunder rolled. "Ohhh," Dr. Glassman said, standing up from his chair to go to the boy. "Is it the storm? Are you afraid?" Shaun hugged himself. "N-Not scared," he affirmed. "Noise…" Dr. Glassman thought for a moment. "Shaun, what did you used to do during thunderstorms? When you were home, when you were—" He stopped. The boy's rapidly moving eyes had welled with tears. _Of course,_ the man thought, _no one probably ever did anything for you._ Shaun put his hands to his ears again when thunder boomed. It was just at that moment when Dr. Glassman noticed the finger-sized welts on the boy's cheeks, and the crescent-shaped indents from fingernail digging at his temples. This was worse than he thought. "Come here," he said softly, leading Shaun carefully into the bathroom down the hallway. He rummaged through the cabinet under the sink. After a moment, he pulled out a clean single cotton ball and pulled it into two pieces. "Keep your head still, Shaun." he said, but Shaun retracted and nervously looked up at him. "It's alright, it's alright. I'm going to put these into your ears and it'll absorb at least some of the sound and maybe let you relax a little." Trying his very hardest to trust without struggling, he let his caregiver gently tap the soft cotton into his ears.

Shaun let out a little sigh of relief. The cotton made the rain outside just sound like one uniform shhhhhhhh, as opposed to the tacking sharp quips of each drop. Dr. Glassman smiled gently at him. "There we go," he said. "Are you ready to go back to bed?" Shaun's fingers worked nervously as they walked back down the hallway to the office. "Is it ok," he quickly uttered, noticing how his own voice sounded different with the cotton in his ears. "Is it ok if I read a little?" Dr. Glassman thought for a moment. There was probably no way Shaun was going to get to sleep any time soon, so wouldn't it be benefitting him to read and stay up as opposed to just laying in bed afraid? "Ok," he agreed. "I don't think I have any…books-books. Like anything you'd want to read. Do you have a book from school? I don't think I still have any…any storybooks or anything." He certainly didn't want to insult Shaun's intelligence but the boy was mentally a little young still and took comfort in childhood things. Shaun's eyes brightened when he looked at Dr. Glassman's bookshelf and saw the big big big book about neuromuscular disorders. He pointed, then went straight over and pulled it off the shelf. Dr. Glassman chuckled. "I think that book weighs about as much as you do," But nevertheless, Shaun climbed into one of the sitting chairs and opened the book to the first page without a word. Dr. Glassman chuckled again. How could this boy find so much interest in these physician desk references? Did he even understand what he was reading? He sat back down at his desk. As the storm rode itself out, Dr. Glassman couldn't help but look over at the tiny boy wearing oversized pajamas who was so engrossed in this medical textbook. _You're a funny boy,_ Dr. Glassman thought to himself so as not to disturb Shaun's concentration. _It's nice getting to know you._


	4. Syrup

_Thanks to everyone who has read the story this far. It makes me happy to know that so many people are curious about how the mind of a person with autism works. It gives me hope. I appreciate it when people want to understand how I see things. I relate to Shaun very closely as you know, so being able to express the things I feel and do to an audience that is caring feels wonderful. Thank you so much._

* * *

There was one thing that Shaun and Dr. Glassman had yet to tackle in their conquest towards normalcy. A simple task that one wouldn't normally find a challenge, yet given their unconventional situation, it was something they hadn't quite mastered.

Eating out in a restaurant.

Of course, Shaun definitely had his favorite little place to go on quiet Saturday nights. It was the very same restaurant Dr. Glassman brought him too on the first night he brought him home. And Shaun's ordered never varied—three chocolate chip pancakes with lots of maple syrup. Being such a small little diner that was never busy allowed for the pair to go on a quiet night and share a dinner together. It was the perfect space for things to go so right, but yet also for things to go wrong without a judgmental audience. One of the main things Dr. Glassman wanted for Shaun to begin doing was ordering for himself. Whenever the waitress would come to their table, Shaun would freeze up, have trouble making any eye contact at all, and become fidgety or nervous. So every night they visited the diner, they'd practice. Slowly but surely. Shaun, now fifteen, needed to understand how important social skills were in a public setting. He could order his own water at this point, but still needed help getting to that extra step of telling his food order to the girl.

On this particular night, Shaun was doing fairly well with focusing on his order. He'd ordered his drink, and even his pancakes—he only got stuck with the waitress asked "Would you like two or three?" Shaun didn't answer. He just kept facing the table, almost like he hadn't heard her. So when she repeated herself and still didn't get a response, Dr. Glassman had to step in. "Three, please." he said. Instead of rebuking him once she walked away, Dr. Glassman instead offered kind encouragement. "That was so good, Shaun. You did a great job tonight." It was all about celebrating the little successes. "How was your lunchtime yesterday at school?" he continued on. Shaun shifted uncomfortably. "Good." he answered.

"Were the boys there?"

"Yes."

"And did they say anything else to you?"

"No."

"Did they do anything else?"

Silence.

"Shaun, did something else happen?"

More silence, accompanied with fidgeting. Dr. Glassman realized that that was an answer in itself. He sighed. It had been ongoing for months now—the same group of boys at Shaun's school were bullying him at lunchtime constantly. Their tactics included everything from making inappropriate gestures at him, talking sarcastically slow into his face, even stealing some of his food from his lunchbox. Shaun was doing so well with trying to ignore them. But Dr. Glassman could see it was almost physically difficult. Some of the things this group of boys did even made his own blood boil. "Can you tell me what else happened?" he asked the boy, his heart breaking when he noticed some tears come to Shaun's eyes. Shaun glanced up and briefly met his mentor's gaze. "They threw chocolate milk at me." he said. "At my head." Dr. Glassman sighed again. "That's why you were already showered and wearing different clothes when I came home yesterday? You changed so I wouldn't see?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you want me to see? Shaun this is a big deal, they're getting worse to you every day."

"I made them mad. I didn't want to make you mad too."

"How on earth does anything you did warrant someone to throw a carton of chocolate milk on you. Explain that to me."

"They took my apple. So I took it back from them. They pushed me and when I fell down, they poured the rest of their chocolate milk on me."

"Oh my god, Shaun…."

"And they took my apple again. But everyone was laughing so I didn't try for it again."

Dr. Glassman rubbed his eyes under his glasses. Hadn't Shaun been through enough pain already? Why did the kids have to be so mean to him? "Ok," he said softly. "That's it. I'm going to call the school again and ask them to switch your lunch time. I don't want you to sit there and take it anymore. The school is doing nothing to help this whole situation, so I'm taking it into my own hands—should they not do what we're asking, I'll move you to another school. That's it. If they want you to 'ignore it' and let others 'be in control of their own behavior', I'll give them something to think about—" Dr. Glassman stopped when he noticed a tear running down Shaun's cheek as he stared down at his fork on the table. Getting upset with something Shaun couldn't control wasn't going to do any good at all. He took a breath. "It's going to be ok, Shaun. We're going to make it ok. I'm proud of you for not starting a fight with them. And I'm glad you're alright. It's just…I just care about…your education. And you too." Shaun rubbed his nose on the arm of his sleeve. "I want Steve." he said. A silence ensued as Dr. Glassman didn't even know what to say. Thankfully, the waitress came by with their food and distracted the focus onto setting up the table and breaking the tension.

She asked if there was anything they needed for their meal, but Shaun just stared at his plate without a word. "We're alright, thank you." Dr. Glassman said. She walked away. After a few seconds of Shaun still sitting like a statue, Dr. Glassman gently reminded him, "Don't let that spoil your appetite. We'll take care of this." Shaun examined the stack of three pancakes on his plate. He reached for his fork with bony and careful fingers. Dr. Glassman cut into his own pancakes, still thinking about everything this boy had to go through and then just to have it topped off with harsh bullying at school? How would he even have a chance to learn his social skills when he was constantly being beaten down? Suddenly, he realized something. He went over Shaun's short answers in his head from their conversation, trying to imagine the scene playing out in the school's cafeteria. He smiled a little bit. The boy looked up at him curiously. "Shaun," Dr. Glassman chuckled. "Did you say that they took your apple…so you grabbed it back?" Shaun nodded. Relief filled his mentor, causing him to let out more of a laugh now. Shaun did it—he, in his own little way, stood up for himself. No he didn't get up and tell a teacher, he didn't throw something back at the boys or start a fight. But he did recognize that someone didn't have the right to take something that was his. So he made a reach for it. "I'm so proud of you," Dr. Glassman said, reaching to touch Shaun's hand across the table. "You did your best. You tried to stop them." Shaun thought about it for a second. He nodded again, his face losing its reddened color. "They had no right to take your apple. You grabbed it back—good for you! You can't control what they do, but you can control yourself—and you did! Your apple is your apple!"

"My apple is my apple." Shaun repeated.

"That's right! You've got it Shaun. You've just got to have confidence. Know what you want, say what you want. Don't hold back. You deserve the same things everyone else does, never forget that. Grab for it Shaun. The world is your apple."

"…The world is my apple."

"That's right."

"Take back the apple."

"Yes!"

"Confidence?"

"Yes, have confidence, Shaun. You're doing so well. Every time you're bold, every time you take what's yours, I know Steve smiles up there in Heaven."

Shaun felt his heart lift. A little hint of a grin tugged at his cheeks. Steve must've been proud of him for grabbing that apple right out of his bully's hand. He tried. He wanted it. If Steve was there, he would've grabbed for the apple too. He wanted to make his brother proud. The waitress passed by the table, asking if everything tasted alright or if they needed anything more. Dr. Glassman again said that they were doing just fine, Shaun was a little picky. She smiled at the small boy who was just sitting there smiling at his pancakes, holding a fork. As she turned to leave, Shaun looked up. "Can I have syrup?" he asked. The waitress looked back. "Of course, sweetie. I'll grab some." she replied. Dr. Glassman was floored. Shaun was doing it! He'd have a ways to go, but at least he was trying. He gave Shaun a big smile and a nod of approval. Shaun proudly flapped his left hand excitedly, then closed it into a victorious little fist. Dr. Glassman made it clear that all of his personal goals were his apple—he had to reach out and take hold of each one to get what he wanted in his new life.

The biggest apple Shaun would have to grab was the apple he envisioned to signify making Steve proud.


	5. Stitch

Shaun sat at the big, important-looking mahogany desk in Dr. Glassman's office at the neurology associates, running his hands over the cool and spotless polished wood. It was smooth. Not sticky smooth, not worn-down smooth, just plain smooth. That day was a typical Thursday afternoon—recently, Dr. Glassman was picking Shaun up after school and bringing him to the neurology office for a few hours until they could both go home together. This coming after there was a bullying incident on the bus which involved a group of students tormenting Shaun and then grabbing his backpack and letting all of his papers and homework and everything fly out the bus window. After much arguing with the school district and the transportation department, Dr. Glassman decided Shaun would no longer have to suffer through any more bus rides on which no one paid attention to what the students were doing through the duration of the ride.

Shaun didn't mind. He liked coming to the office after school. It was quiet, there were lots of books. And in exam room 6, there was a plastic model of an ear that showed all of the inner parts that Shaun was still entranced by. Even though he was given strict orders to "stay in the office, don't leave or wander", he sometimes snuck out when he knew Dr. Glassman was with a patient and exam room 6 was clear. He just liked to look at it. He vowed to himself that one of these days, he would touch those little bony things on the model that were on the inside of the ear. They looked so—

"Shaun, can you pass me a pen, please?" Dr. Glassman's voice broke his train of thought. Oh yeah. He'd forgotten he was in here too. Shaun picked up the black pen nearest to his left hand and held it up to the man who was on the phone, seeking to write something down. Dr. Glassman nodded in thanks, still listening to the person on the other end. "It won't take long," he was saying. "Maybe give me ten minutes to get there? Then I've got to prep and scrub in, so tell Dr. Quadir not to leave her office until at least 4:15." Listening in, Shaun let his bony fingers softly wiggle through the cup of paperclips on the desk. It appeased his tingly nerves for the time being. "Well regardless," Dr. Glassman went on, capping his pen and setting it on the desk. "Keep him under and maintain the drip because we don't want any 'accidental awakenings', and I think Jack will know exactly which one of his botched surgeries I'm referencing. Alright? …Ok. Let me take care of one staff issue here at my office and I'll be up to operating room five in a minute. _Please_ keep him sedated even though he's unconscious, don't let that idiot talk you out of it. …Alright. Ok, thanks Katherine." Dr. Glassman hung up his phone and sighed. Shaun raised his eyes but didn't want to maintain any eye contact just yet. Not until he knew what was going on.

Dr. Glassman reached behind the twirly chair Shaun was sitting in and grabbed his white coat. "Shaun, there's been an emergency and I've got to head into surgery over at the hospital immediately." he explained. Shaun began rocking himself slightly. An emergency? Who was it? Were they alright? Why were they calling Dr. Glassman? He rarely went into surgery anymore. Why were they calling Dr. Glassman? Why were they calling Dr. Glassman? "It's alright, it's alright, calm down." the man tried to soothe him when he noticed the stimming. "Nothing to worry about, Shaun. Everything's going to be ok. Katherine just told me it was a motorcycle accident on the highway and the cyclist has some pretty bad wounds on his head. They just want me there to make sure his brain wasn't too beaten up." Shaun let Dr. Glassman gently tussle his hair. He'd learned that was the way to calm the boy when he began showing signs he was getting worked up. "But Shaun," Dr. Glassman said. "I need you to stay here in my office and wait for me for a little bit. Alright? I don't know how long this is going to take but I don't think my part will be extensive. Just sit here at my desk and read or go on the computer or whatever you want to do, ok?" Shaun put his fingers back into the cup of paperclips. He gave a little nod to acknowledge what the doctor had instructed him to do. He watched carefully as he grabbed his briefcase, took one more sip of coffee, and began heading for the door. Shaun realized he needed to ask an important question—something that had been on his mind and he spent all this time piecing the proper words together. "W-Will you be doing an open-cranial electroencephalogram?" he asked. Dr. Glassman stopped and turned around. "If his skull is that damaged that he requires a lobotomy, yes. But if there isn't that much taken off, then we can do it on his scalp like normal." Shaun nodded, accepting this answer. Dr. Glassman cocked his head. How on earth would Shaun even know the difference, and why would he be asking such a question?

Shaun did as he was told—he sat at Dr. Glassman's desk and didn't leave. For the first fifteen minutes of course. Then he became puzzled. How could this patient still be alive if he was missing parts of his skull and so much time had passed since the accident? He slipped off the big twirly chair and grabbed the big heavy book off of the middle shelf. Carefully, he flipped to a page he'd marked previously. A picture of the brain. Shaun tried to imagine it in three dimensions. Even then, there were major arteries and veins flowing throughout the gray matter—how could a blood vessel be broken and yet not bleed out? Curiosity was beginning to overtake him. What did Katherine say on the phone? Operating room five?

Dr. Glassman stood beside his colleagues in the operating room, completely covered in sterile garments and looking down at the accident victim. "Any known motor function?" he asked. Dr. Naveyha Quadir shook her head. "The trigeminal nerve appears to be blocked by a hemorrhaging clot, and it may be impacting the hypoglossal nerve but we can't tell yet."

"Well he's lucky he had this helmet on, or else his head would've been smashed in completely and he'd have no nerves left to fix. Let's get this bike helmet cut off first." Dr. Glassman told his team. It was a matter of minutes before just a small section of the helmet was cut away so that further damage could be assessed. It was going to take a lot longer than he initially expected.

After about an hour had passed and the team was still diligently working on removing the debris and stabilizing the cranium of the victim, it became clear that there would no longer be a high alert on this victim—once he was closed up, he'd be fine and would recover from the anesthesia. "Where was this accident?" Dr. Glassman asked. One of the OR nurses replied it had happened on Highway 19 and required a bayflight to the hospital. "That's not that far away. Does he have family coming to visit?" he continued. Dr. Quadir let out a sarcastic chuckle. "I know the EMTs told me that from the pictures in his wallet, he has a son. I just can't believe one of those batty receptionists let a kid that young into the operating theater to watch his own father having traumatic brain surgery."

"Was the son on the bike with him?"

"No, he was riding alone."

"How old is the kid?"

"Mmm…he looks pretty young."

"Looks? What do you mean?"

"He's right up there—watching from the operating theater above us. That's why I said I can't believe they let someone that young in."

Dr. Glassman glanced up to see exactly who she was talking about when suddenly horror crept up inside of him from his stomach. "Oh my god." he breathed. "That's mine." One of the nurses gave him a quizzical look. "That's my…kid." he explained quickly. Yes, Shaun Murphy had not followed instructions and had somehow made his way into operating theater number five to watch what was taking place. Innocently, he gave a small wave to Dr. Glassman when he noticed he was being looked up at. What did he have in his hand? Dr. Glassman squinted to see. Oh, that little toy scalpel he liked to carry around. How in the hell did Shaun make his way in there? "I didn't know you had a son, I thought you once had only a—"

"He's not mine biologically, I'm just his guardian." Dr. Glassman interrupted Dr. Quadir before she could reach the sensitive subject. He looked back up at the small boy watching so closely. Unable to resist, he gave Shaun a small wave back with a bloody gloved hand. Shaun smiled a little and squeezed his toy. Everything those surgeons were doing was so…careful. Delicate. Gentle. They were still gentle even when the person wasn't conscious and couldn't feel anything anyway? Why?

...

The next day, Dr. Glassman was just about to leave his office to go pick Shaun up from school when his desk phone rang. He immediately felt a wave of disappointment wash over him when the speaker identified himself as Shaun's biology teacher, and requested he speak to Dr. Glassman about Shaun's 'incident' in class today when he arrived at the school. Promising he'd be there, he hung up the phone and sent Shaun a text message. "Did anything happen at school today that you want to tell me about before I have a meeting with your bio teacher?" When he received no answer, he sent a separate text, "Please meet me in front of your bio classroom." Still no answer. Dr. Glassman sighed as he got into his car. _Come on, Shaun,_ he thought to himself in frustration. _Things were going so well lately._

The drive down to the school felt like it took nearly forever only because of the dread Dr. Glassman was feeling about what was going to be said in this meeting. As he walked down the hallway towards the science section of school, he was able to see the hustle and bustle of high school-aged kids as they prepared to leave for the weekend. Some young couples kissed in the hallways, a group of girls taped up a big poster about a school function, a circle of boys were writing something on the lockers and laughing. God, he did not miss this. He could almost understand why Shaun spent his lunches sitting in the library. Standing alone by a classroom door, fingers nervously working at themselves, little Shaun Murphy wore his backpack on one shoulder and kept his eyes downward. "Shaun," Dr. Glassman sighed. "What's this about? What happened?" It was loud in this hallway. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. The boy shrugged his shoulders, tears springing to his eyes. "First you disobeyed me yesterday when you left my office, now at school—" The door to the biology classroom opened and a man stuck his head out. "Mr. Murphy? Shaun's dad?" he asked. Shaun immediately snapped his head up. "He's not my father. I hate fathers." he quipped. Dr. Glassman gave Shaun a look that read, 'are we here because you have been a smart aleck?' The teacher looked confused a bit, allowing for Dr. Glassman to step in. "Dr. Aaron Glassman, Shaun Murphy's guardian. It's nice to meet you." He shook the hand of the teacher who introduced himself as Mr. Devitt. Shaun was asked to sit outside the classroom while the two men had their discussion.

Closing the door behind them, Mr. Devitt gestured towards a chair with a polite invitation to have a seat. "So how long have you been Shaun's guardian?" he asked. Dr. Glassman took a seat as he folded his hands in his lap nervously. "Um…not too long. We're coming up on a year now and we've finally worked out some good routines and schedules. Has…has Shaun been having issues in this class? I know sometimes he can be disruptive and, believe me, we're trying to work on that. But Shaun's been through…a lot. More trauma than any boy his age should see. He's a little different. And at my age, it hasn't been entirely the easiest on me to pick up on how to parent a teenager…" Mr. Devitt leaned forward on his desk with a puzzled look on his face. "Dr. Glassman," he interrupted. "If you don't mind me saying, I think Shaun is an amazing student. I haven't noticed any behavioral issues in my class. Sure, Shaun's a little quiet. He doesn't like having a lab partner—he'd rather do the work himself. But…I called you in here because we did a dissection today." Dr. Glassman sighed. This was not going to be good. "Did he get too excited about the scalpels?"

"No, not at all. It was a simple dead frog dissection. And he was successful in removing and identifying all the structures and whatever the worksheet said. He barely gave his lab partner any chance to do any of the work at all, but I think she was ok with that."

"I can talk to him about sharing and being aware. We're working on that. He's much better than before, but sometimes he needs a bit more practice."

"I didn't have a problem with the way Shaun went about that. It's just that…after the dissection was complete and students were asked to clean up and completely dispose of their frogs…Shaun…well…I saved his specimen. Do you mind if I show you?"

"That would be fine,"

Mr. Devitt and Dr. Glassman both got up and went to the sink in the back of the classroom. Laying in the sink was the dissected frog, but there were stitches over all of the incisions made. Dr. Glassman blinked. What? "Dr. Glassman," the teacher said softly. "Shaun gave his frog sutures that look…just like regular stitches after a surgery." Dr. Glassman reached into the sink and picked up the frog, earning a wince from the teacher since he wasn't wearing any gloves. He examined them. _Oh my god,_ he thought, _these sutures are perfect_. "He's never…" he began, but stopped. Shaun had seen stitches being put in once—yesterday. In the operating theater. Could he really have memorized the technique just by watching from a distance? "Wow," he breathed. Mr. Devitt nodded and folded his arms. "Giving sutures was not part of the instruction or the lab. Yet he did it, and he did it really fast."

"If students weren't required to do any stitching," Dr. Glassman asked. "how did he—"

"He used a staple he pulled out of the worksheet packed and a string from the hem of his shirt."

Dr. Glassman blinked several times, completely in awe. A staple and a thread. How on earth? "Mr. Devitt, I'm a surgeon. I'm just a little amazed because these sutures look…perfect."

"Has Shaun watched you perform them before? Has he had them personally?"

"He watched for maybe ten minutes yesterday in an operating theater. Other than that, he's had no prior experience."

"Wow. He's got quite a gift then."

Dr. Glassman set the stitched up frog back in the sink and washed his hands. Aside from the fact that Shaun proved to have very good fine motor skills, he was a bit confused as to why he was brought into the classroom for a conference. So he asked Mr. Devitt upfront. The teacher pulled a piece of paper from a drawer in his desk. "I wanted to ask you, since I ran into some walls asking Shaun personally, if maybe he'd like to think about joining my after school program for pre-health professions. Maybe it would interest him. Give him something to do. There are seven kids in it already—it's pretty small. They would love to have him. We meet once a week. Can you talk to him about it?" Dr. Glassman took the paper and read it over. He nodded. "Maybe Shaun would like this. He's all over my reference books." Mr. Devitt shook his hand.

Upon exiting the classroom, Dr. Glassman found Shaun sitting on the cold floor with his back against the lockers nearby, running his thumb over the back of his plastic scalpel. He looked up nervously when he heard the door open. Dr. Glassman smiled gently at him "You're not in trouble," he said. Shaun seemed to relax into a less tense position. "Come on, Shaun." The boy stood up and obediently followed his guardian as they walked down the now emptied hallway. "I'm sorry I raised my voice earlier," Dr. Glassman said. Shaun hugged himself but had an eased expression. "I'm just…I like learning as you learn. You've got some real talents. Just help me when I'm not understanding. You can tell me how you feel, what you're thinking about. If you do that for me, I can do that for you. Ok?" Shaun nodded. He squeezed his toy scalpel. "M-My…frog did not have any brain activity that would've shown up on an electroencephalogram." he reported, sounding almost a bit disappointed. Dr. Glassman chuckled. "That frog's been pickled for so long, I'd be afraid if he did."

Even Shaun smiled a little bit. As they left the school, Shaun pulled at the hem of his shirt that was now sagging due to a lack of thread holding it together. Dr. Glassman noticed, stopping to look at it. "We can fix it," he said. Shaun played with the fringe in his fingers. "Really?" he asked. His guardian nodded. "Of course. We just have to stitch it back up. I think between your talent and my practice we can figure it out."


	6. Wake Up

_This is a little on the longer side. Sorry. Once I started writing I couldn't stop. Thank you for reviewing and for reading, and please know that when you give suggestions in your comments, I strive to add them to my next chapters._

* * *

Dr. Glassman quietly opened the bedroom door to Shaun's room, ready to wake him for another day at school. The room was dark and cool—the only way he could have it in order to sleep enough. Bright lights or a warm temperature made Shaun extremely uncomfortable and irritated, and it would be nearly impossible for him to ever fall asleep at all if faced with such conditions. Dr. Glassman sat down on the edge of the mattress. "Shaun," he quietly said, placing a hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "Good morning, it's time to wake up." The bundle of blankets stirred a little and emitted a soft groan. Dr. Glassman smiled. Shaun slept curled up in a ball usually, so waking up made him look a bit like a hermit crab coming out of its shell. "Come on," Dr. Glassman encouraged gently. "Sit up and get your stretches in. I'm going to go get breakfast started, ok?" The small boy pushed himself up onto his elbows with a wince. He looked like he was trying to sit up, but the grimace on his face caught Dr. Glassman's attention in the low light. He reached out and gently helped him up so that he was sitting in bed, legs crossed. Shaun hugged himself. "Everything ok?" the man asked. When he saw him put a hand on his stomach, he understood that he might be in some pain. "Your stomach hurts?" he asked. Shaun nodded, letting out a yawn. Was he saying this because he didn't want to go to school? Or because he really did hurt?

Dr. Glassman helped Shaun out of bed, encouraging him to go to the bathroom while he got breakfast ready. Shaun slipped into the kitchen afterwards and sat quietly at the kitchen table. His messy hair and darkened eyes made it clear that he hadn't slept well. His thin frame gave a shiver. He hugged himself again. Dr. Glassman set the cup of yogurt and an apple on the table in front of him, and began stirring his own coffee when suddenly he noticed the small boy in front of him catching goosebumps on his arms. "You're cold," he said, knowing that sometimes asking Shaun too many questions only caused him to shut down more. He nodded. Was he running a fever? Dr. Glassman stood up and went to the cabinet in the kitchen. "Let me see if I still have the ear thermometer somewhere around here," he said aloud. "If it's not here, it might be in the bathroom…" he trailed off, heading down the hallway to check in the medicine cabinet. Shaun waited at the table. He nudged his spoon a little towards the cup of yogurt, but he just didn't quite feel like eating.

Dismayed and a bit upset with himself, Dr. Glassman soon realized that he got rid of the at-home thermometer when he became childless and no longer had the need to keep it around. He'd just have to take Shaun's temperature the manual way. "Shaun, let me see your forehead," he said as he came back into the kitchen. Suddenly nervous, the boy pulled away and kept his cautious eyes darting back and forth. "I'm not going to hurt you," he caregiver explained. "I just want to feel if your skin is warm." Shaun hesitantly allowed him to place a palm under his hair just above his eyebrows. "You've got a little bit of a fever, it feels like." Dr. Glassman said, moving the back of his hand to Shaun's flushed cheek. "You can't go to school if you have a fever." Suddenly Shaun jerked away and wrung his hands in a panic. "I-I have to go to school! I have to go today! I have a statistics exam that I can't miss! I have to go to school!" he cried out. Seeing that he was working himself into breaking a sweat, Dr. Glassman quickly grabbed his wringing hands to steady them and get him to relax a little while he drew deep and shallow breaths. "Shaun, Shaun, it's ok. Your teacher will understand, I'm sure of it. You can just make it up another day."

"I can't. I do not like my teacher and he doesn't like me. I don't want t-to spend any more time thinking about him than I already need to."

"I can't let you go to school if you have a fever, Shaun."

"Y-You don't know if I have a fever because we never tested it with a thermometer."

"You're warm."

"Maybe…maybe I'm just warm because I was warm in my bed sleeping."

"Shaun, don't do this—"

"Please let me take my test. I studied very hard. Please. I have to go to school."

Dr. Glassman sighed. He could see and hear the urgency Shaun was feeling about this exam. He knew that Shaun was not a fan of his high school statistics class, but he'd recently become fixated on preparing for his college applications—which taking this class would shine on a resume, as he learned from a school advisor. He was still young, only sixteen, but Dr. Glassman could see that he had drive. He wanted to go further, do better, learn more about the world and himself. How could he try to diminish that? "What time is your exam?" he asked. Shaun rocked gently back and forth in his chair. "M-My class starts at 12:45pm. 12:45pm. 12:45pm. I have an exam. I need to take my exam." More hand wringing. Dr. Glassman reached out again to hold his hands and steady them. "Ok, ok, Shaun. Alright. Go take your exam today. But I need for you to rest as soon as you get home, agreed? No homework or computer after school—when we get to my office, you lie down behind my desk and rest up." Hesitantly, Shaun nodded. He liked Dr. Glassman because he laid things out plain and simple for him. Recently they'd begun talking about college when the school sent home a preparation flyer to Shaun's class. Feeling overwhelmed and insufficient, Shaun wasn't sure if he would be able to make it to college. So for hours into the night, Dr. Glassman had stayed up and made a checklist on a piece of paper of everything Shaun had to do to get into a good school. Seeing it laid out step by step made it so much easier on the boy's brain. Yet he was also eager to try crossing off as many of the items as he could—hence why his exam was so important.

With difficulty, Shaun rose from the table and began getting ready for school. He did take a few of the generic pain killers Dr. Glassman handed him in order to bring down his fever. However, the throbbing pain in his stomach was still present. It felt heavy, sharp, biting. But it had felt this way for a few days now—focusing on it now wouldn't do him any good. He decided to not think about it as best he could. Before he knew it, he was slipping out of Dr. Glassman's car at the high school and picking up his backpack. "Good luck, Shaun." the man told him. "Please take it easy though, ok?" Shaun gave a little nod, and then an innocent wave goodbye as he walked into the building. Worriedly, Dr. Glassman watched as he went. He hoped that perhaps this was just a nervous manifestation caused by the recent stress Shaun was putting onto himself. He just wanted to be sure.

But unfortunately, not even two hours later, Dr. Glassman's office received a call from the school nurse saying that Shaun had thrown up and needed to be brought home early. It nearly broke his heart to see the small, thin boy sitting alone on the bench outside of the nurse's office, hugging himself and rocking gently. "I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered upon being approached. Dr. Glassman felt his forehead again. "What are you apologizing for? You're sick, it happens." He turned to the school nurse who was sitting at her desk, chewing gum and staring at something on her computer screen with tired eyes. She looked up when she felt his gaze. "This your kid?" she asked. "Um…yes, I'm here for Shaun Murphy." he replied.

"You his dad or something?"

"He's not my father," Shaun interrupted. "I hate fathers."

"I'm Dr. Aaron Glassman, his guardian," Dr. Glassman continued.

"Huh,"

"…Do I need to sign him out…or something?" he asked. She waved her hand. "He's good to go." she dismissed. He sighed. Shaun stood up with difficulty and kept a hand on his stomach. "Get him a change of clothes too. Kid got throw up on himself." the nurse suggested. Dr. Glassman clenched his jaw in annoyance.

Shaun walked out to the car delicately—every step he took stabbed at his stomach. "I'm worried about you," Dr. Glassman told him as he steadied his walk with an arm. "Maybe we should go to the emergency room." He knew that Shaun could be just suffering from a stomach virus or food poisoning, but he didn't want to take any chances. He couldn't lose another child. Shaun shook his head. "No, no. No. No more emergency rooms." he stated flatly. The last time he'd been there was when they brought Steve… Dr. Glassman opened the car door for him but noticed Shaun was having trouble raising his arms to push himself onto the passenger seat. "Let's just go home and get some rest," he suggested. "I can have the other doctors see my patients today. Maybe I'll ask for the on-call physician assistant to go in for me. That way we'll at least be ready in case anything goes wrong." The very last thing he wanted to do was treat Shaun as a patient and give him an examination—from the looks and sounds of it, he might've been having appendicitis. But he definitely didn't want to make him uncomfortable by pressing on his stomach to find an area of tenderness. And he certainly didn't want to be wrong in diagnosing.

As they drove and headed closer to home, Shaun reached over for Dr. Glassman's arm and motioned to his stomach while he took a few short inspirations. "What?" Dr. Glassman asked, panicking as he tried to keep his eyes on the road but his attention on the boy next to him "What, Shaun? Tell me!"

"I'm going to be sick…" the boy groaned. Dr. Glassman pulled over immediately, allowing for Shaun to slide out of the car and onto his hands and knees where he threw up in the grass. Dr. Glassman got out of the car as well just to be there to comfort Shaun—he wasn't exactly sure how yet, since the boy didn't like to be touched. However, this time, he wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve and weakly nudged his way closer to the man, where he crumpled on his lap. Something was very wrong. He usually avoided all close contact, and here he was. This was not normal Shaun behavior. Dr. Glassman held him there while he quickly took his phone out of his pocket and dialed. "Arthur, it's me," he said quickly to his colleague on the line. "Get me on with one of the ER attendings, stat."

…

It felt like hours had passed from the moment when Shaun collapsed to when they were finally sitting in the waiting room of the emergency room. Shaun was still slumped and in pain, leaning against his guardian's arm. He tried to keep his eyes closed. Not only to ease the dizziness, but so that he wouldn't have to see this all-too-familiar waiting room. "Dr. Glassman," a nurse called out, causing Shaun to have to look up a little bit in curiosity. "The doctor you requested for your…boy…is still in a procedure with a stroke victim. I won't be able to get him out early enough. And this child needs to be seen right away." she explained. Dr. Glassman rubbed his face with his hand. He'd worked with a lot of doctors in this hospital, and there were only a handful he actually trusted to do an excellent job. "But," the nurse went on. "an emergency medicine pediatrician is available, and I already paged her and she's ready to take you back." Dr. Glassman looked down at the sleepy boy laying on his arm. "She'd see a sixteen year old?" he asked. The nurse nodded. "She's one of our best." she stated. Being unfamiliar with this particular department of the hospital, he guessed that something was better than nothing.

Trying to get Shaun out of the chair was the next battle. He could barely move, he was in so much pain. "Come on, let's go to the room." the man encouraged. Shaun couldn't move his legs. Every breath was beginning to cause him a shock of pain. He shook his head. "Carry me," he gasped out. Dr. Glassman sighed. "Oh my god. Do you remember who I am? I'm an old man, Shaun. I can't carry you." he said—the nurse left to get a wheelchair. "Pleeaassseeee…" Shaun whined, tears beginning to form in his eyes. Was he really even that heavy? He was just a boy—the doctor had lifted heavier men before in his time. "Ok, come here." He bent down and let Shaun wrap his bony arms around his neck. Counting to three, he took a deep breath and lifted the boy up out of the seat and into his arms. A little late, the nurse returned with the wheelchair. Shaun was crying quietly now—in pain, and in fear.

As soon as they got Shaun into the bed, the pediatrician was there, charting vitals and performing her tests. "Get me imaging," she told a nurse quickly—no introductions had previously been made at all. The moment she saw Shaun, she began her work. Dr. Glassman felt helpless standing there with all of the buzz going on. He didn't know what to do or how to help. He could tell Shaun was scared though. His wild eyes were darting around, every little sound made him flinch. "I need a blood sample and a lab test," the pediatrician stated. Shaun panicked. He didn't like the idea of a needle going into his arm multiple times. Dr. Glassman hurried to the bedside and took his little hand. "Hey. Hey, it's alright." he encouraged. "You're so brave, you can do this." Suddenly the focused and concerned pediatrician completely changed her entire demeanor just to talk to her patient. "Oh, it's alright little one," she said sweetly. She tapped repeatedly on the hand that Dr. Glassman was holding. "Nothing but a tap. You won't feel a thing. It's nothing but a tap, little one. You're going to be just fine." Dr. Glassman noticed her trick—as she was tapping Shaun's hand, a nurse had prepared a needle behind her and was aiming between the taps of the doctor's fingers. Without a word, the pediatrician lifted her hand and the nurse immediately inserted the needle. Shaun noticed, but didn't have a strong reaction. She'd distracted him. _Brilliant,_ Dr. Glassman thought. _Maybe this won't be so bad after all._

Shaun was rushed into imaging and had a CT scan completed on his abdomen. Looking at the results—apparently this pediatrician was quite popular at the hospital because radiology delivered her images within minutes—she took Dr. Glassman aside. "Nothing but a simple appendicitis." she said. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Oh thank god."

"He'll need surgery,"

"Immediately,"

"What's going to be the best way to tell him?"

"Meaning?"

"You know him best—how are we going to explain that he needs surgery so that he doesn't feel babied yet he's aware of his situation?"

Dr. Glassman thought for a moment. How would Shaun take it—that he needed surgery. Big news and swift change made the boy very anxious. And he was already on edge with the whole situation. Suddenly he had an idea. "Get him a GI physician's desk reference. Let him read about an appendectomy. He loves that stuff, I don't know why. It helps him comprehend. Helps him cope." he suggested. The pediatrician nodded. "A future doctor, perhaps?" she asked with a smile. Dr. Glassman chuckled—though he did think about it even after she walked away from the conversation.

Within minutes, Shaun had the massive textbook on his lap and he was studying over all of the pictures and words related to an appendicitis. The pediatrician watched him. His heart rate and respirations decreased significantly as his focus shifted onto what was before him. "It's a simple surgery," she explained to him. "And you'll be back to normal in a few weeks." Shaun traced the picture in the book with his finger, then traced over his own abdomen. The pediatrician asked if he had any questions. "W-Will you use a transverse incision or oblique?" he asked. She went on to tell him that oblique would be best for his size to allow for better access to the inflamed appendix. "If a general cause is stress," he said. "Does that mean I'll have to take my statistics exam after I get better? Or can I take it after my surgery?" Dr. Glassman put a hand to his own forehead and sighed. Why couldn't he let that stupid test go? The pediatrician shrugged calmly. "I'll call your teacher myself and tell him you want a test delivered to you here while you're in recovery." she said, clearly doing her best to act as a friend to him, to make him more comfortable. Shaun nodded, closing his book. "Good." he stated.

Shaun was whisked away into prep for surgery very shortly after. Dr. Glassman went with him, still holding his hand. As excellent as the pediatrician was, Shaun's nerves were still present of course. He lay there in his bed, shivering in the cold, fingers shaking in his guardian's grip. "What if I don't wake up?" he asked him quietly. Dr. Glassman smiled gently—it was his turn to comfort. "You'll wake up exactly when you're supposed to."

"Steve didn't."

"…Steve…Steve had broken his neck. Shattered his most vital cervical vertebrae. He didn't wake up from surgery because…"

"Because he was already dead when he went in."

"…Shaun…"

"It's ok. I know. He was dead. They tried to save him."

"You're going to be just fine in this surgery. I do surgeries all the time. I've never seen complications with an appendectomy. Just relax. You're very much alive now and you will be when you come out."

"What if I'm not?"

"You will be, Shaun."

"If I don't see you again…" A nurse slipped a respirator mask over the boy's nose and mouth. "I do love you."

Dr. Glassman froze. Did Shaun just say he loved him? Did he know what he was saying? "Y-You do?" he asked, a bit stunned. Shaun nodded. "You saved me. I wanted to be dead like Steve. But now I want to live. You made me want to live." he explained. A nurse asked Shaun to begin counting backwards with her from ten. Dr. Glassman was still shocked by this confession. The boy's eyes were beginning to close as the anesthesia worked its magic on his system. Dr. Glassman squeezed his hand gently one more time. "I love you too." he whispered. "You made me want to live as well."

…

Though it was not a very long procedure, Dr. Glassman felt like he'd waited days for Shaun to come out of anesthesia again. He'd managed to make a call to dietary and request a bowl of ice cream be sent to Shaun's recovery room for when he woke up so that he could have a sweet treat for being so brave. The boy was extremely happy with this surprise. Though groggy and a little sore, he was still able to manage the spoon on his own and take his time enjoying it. Dr. Glassman stayed with him there the whole time. They talked a little. Just had some bonding time. Before long, the pediatrician came back to Shaun's room. "How are you doing, little one?" she asked confidently. Shaun nodded a response. "You're still feeling ok? Any more questions about what we did to you?" Much to everyone's surprise, Shaun gently set down his spoon and gave another nod. "May I please see the tools you used on me?" he requested. She raised an eyebrow. "The surgical equipment? That's all being sterilized right now." Shaun looked away. He flexed a hand towards his backpack sitting near Dr. Glassman, so he gave it to the boy. Shaun took his old clothes out of it and dug into the pocket of his pants. Carefully he unfolded a blue cloth. His scalpel. His toy scalpel. "Did you use one of these?" he asked her. The pediatrician nodded. "Yeah, we did." she could see his fascination. "…Do you want to see a real-life one?" Shaun eagerly replied the affirmative. She left the room but came back briefly with not just a scalpel, but a variety of sterile and unused surgical tools. Shaun laid them all in a line and stared at them in disbelief. She told him that for being so smart and so brave, he could keep them in his room—provided Dr. Glassman was there to supervise—and play with them. Shaun felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. These were all so amazing! Dr. Glassman nodded a thanks to the pediatrician, who accepted with a smile. "Shaun one more thing," she said before leaving the room. "When you become Dr. Shaun Murphy someday, you have to let me know. Ok?"

Shaun smiled. That was a nice title. Odd, but nice. He picked up the ten-blade in his right hand, and held his toy scalpel in his left. Studying them both, he repeated softly to himself. "I'm Dr. Shaun Murphy."


	7. Good

Sine, cosine, tangent.

Sine, cosine, tangent.

Circumference.

Avogadro's number.

Avogadro's number.

Circumference.

"Hey, it's dinner time. Book away please." Dr. Glassman's stern reminder brought Shaun out of his tense mental state of studying from his SAT preparation book at the kitchen table. Immediately, he closed the cover and moved forward in his chair as Dr. Glassman set a plate perfectly portioned (with no foods touching) before him on the placemat. "Thank you," the man said, seating himself. Shaun remained quiet and picked up his fork. He studied it. 3.25 inches long. Each prong hand to be about 3 centimeters; of 3.25 inches, 3 centimeters was reserved for prong length, meaning the handle of the fork would have to be— "Shaun, I'm asking you a question." Dr. Glassman's voice broke his concentration again. Was he talking to him? "I'm sorry," Shaun said, his nervous eyes lowering when he realized that he wasn't being a good listener. "It's ok," Dr. Glassman said calmly. "I'm just asking you if you have everything you need for tomorrow morning already laid out. I don't want any unnecessary panic before your test."

"I have everything laid out."

"Ok, good."

"But I'm still nervous."

"Of course you are. It's ok to be nervous, Shaun. I'm glad you're telling me how you feel."

"Doctors take this test."

"…Yes, all doctors have to start somewhere. And the SAT is the place to start while getting into a premed college program."

"I want to be a doctor."

"I know you do. And you will be some day. But let's take it one day at a time, ok?"

"Ok,"

Dr. Glassman smiled at his odd little friend sitting across from him. Shaun had been obsessively studying for weeks for the SAT. He spent hours at a bookstore in Casper reading prep manuals and studying up on topics—Dr. Glassman didn't want to stop this, however he only did mind when Shaun wandered off to the bookstore instead of going home after school and then he was missing for some time when Dr. Glassman couldn't find him. But ever since Shaun had made up his mind to become a doctor, he'd been pushing harder and harder for success. His grades shot up, his interest in college blossomed, his eagerness for academics progressed. How could any parent not encourage this? But Dr. Glassman worried. He'd been through the system, the MD process. It wasn't easy. Even for someone who was neurotypical. But how could he explain that to Shaun now, and dash out his dreams? How could he try to weaken the boy's desire to make something more of himself and fulfill his ambitions just because he was afraid of how Shaun would handle rejection?

Before bedtime, Dr. Glassman felt the need to go into Shaun's room and check to be sure that he wasn't stashing any books under his pillow or in his dresser drawers. Recently, he'd been caught staying up until three and four in the morning studying. Of course it showed his diligence, but it was also making him exhausted for the rest of the day. "You need a good night's sleep in order to do your best." he told the boy. Though Shaun didn't quite agree and wanted to keep reading, he listened to his caregiver and even gave up a biochemistry study card he'd been hiding between the bedsheet and mattress. He accepted a rumple of his hair as a goodnight gesture, then climbed into bed. It was a sleepless night. Stress, nerves, worry. Sine, cosine, tangent. Circumference. Avogadro's number. Mentally he ran through flashcards in his brain, trying to review as much as he could as his body fought against him for rest. Sine, cosine, tangent. Circumference. Avogadro's…did Avogadro's number repeat a 2 or a 3 at the end? No, it was a 2. But what if it wasn't? What if the exam asked for an enantiomer configuration of 2-methylbutane—did he remember what that structure looked like? Was there even an enantiomer? Wait, an enantiomer was an exact match, right? Slightly different? How many of the twenty amino acids did he really remember? C-C-C, C-A-A, C-G-G…oh no, which ones were stop codons? No no, he remembered. Ok what else. The muscles of the rotator cuff. Deltoid first…but while thinking about muscles, which is the part that contracts and causes fibers to pull together? Ligaments, bone to bone. Tendons, muscle to bone. Ligaments, bone to bone. Tendons, muscle to—

Frustration. Pure frustration. Why couldn't he remember all this? Why did it feel like someone had laid a heavy blanket on top of his brain? Would it go away in time for the test? Shaun pulled at his own hair nervously. Amino acids, polypeptides, ligase, enantiomers, sine, cosine, tangent—

Shaun kicked his feet at his blankets sharply and pulled on his hair. Again and again he kicked, clawing at his own scalp, letting out an angry grunt. The bed rocked. It creaked and squeaked under the thrashing boy. Enantiomers? Transposition. Tendons, muscle to bone. Tendons, muscle to bone. Shaun was sweating at this point, the panic and frustration overtaking him. What if he didn't remember on the test? He wouldn't be able to be a good doctor, to make it to any sort of medical program. He had to remember, he had to.

The bedroom door swung open and a burst of light from the hallway acted as a dim spotlight on the frustrated, flapping, rolling boy on his bed. Dr. Glassman rushed to the bedside. "Shaun, Shaun!" he cried out. "Shaun, enough! Enough!" He tried grabbing his hands but he wasn't quick enough. "Ok, it's ok, it's alright, please relax." he attempted to calm him with a soothing voice. Shaun's eyes briefly met his caregiver's. He realized what he was doing. Taking deep breaths, he slowed himself. He stopped fighting. Some silence passed, which he was grateful for because Dr. Glassman wasn't going to yell at him or ask him to explain his behavior. Instead, the man gently stroked Shaun's hair and sat on the bed with him until it appeared Shaun was much more relaxed. It was easier for him to fall asleep.

Dr. Glassman stayed there in the room until he was sure Shaun was relaxed enough to continue thinking rationally. "When I was in high school," he whispered. "I took this exam twice just to get a decent score." Shaun opened his eyes to glance up at him. Dr. Glassman chuckled. "And look, I made it to be a doctor. Shaun, if you have to take this test two, three times—I don't care. It's ok. Ten years from now it won't even matter at all." Shaun hugged his arms to his chest as he processed this advice. He knew his mentor was right, but he just wanted to get as much done as possible with as few 're-dos' as possible. When asked, he promised Dr. Glassman he would close his eyes and try to get some sleep. With a rumple of his hair, he was left alone again in his bedroom to stare up at the ceiling and let his brain buzz with equations and questions and terms as background noise.

Shaun was so nervous the next morning at breakfast, he was physically jerky. Every now and then, the muscles in his left arm would twitch. His eyelid felt like it was pulsating. His heart pounded. He barely spoke all morning in an attempt to keep his brain calm and focused and organized with all of the information he'd spent the night reviewing through his head and compartmentalizing. Before sliding out of the car when they arrived at the testing center, Dr. Glassman touched his hand gently and said "Shaun, it's just the SAT. It's going to be ok." Nervously, the boy twitched and then went on his way into the building.

Seeing how nervous Shaun was about the stupid exam suddenly made Dr. Glassman nervous by association as well. He was worried for his boy. He didn't want Shaun to start beating himself up or feeling discouraged because of one exam. He was so proud of how far he'd come in the past few months—he was so academically motivated. He was finally doing well. Unable to sit still and wait at his office, Dr. Glassman found it more productive to keep his mind preoccupied for the duration of the long exam—the only way he could do that was by pacing around a Walmart in an attempt to distract himself from checking the time and hoping it was time to pick Shaun up and hear how it went.

Shaun however was so exhausted and drained, he fell completely asleep on the ride home. And upon getting home, he immediately went to his bed without hesitation and slept for the entire afternoon and into the evening. Despite having already done the hard part and taken the exam, he was still worried about his scores—would they be good enough? How would they be compared to the scores of others? Where would his final scores be sent for admission review?

Nearly ten days after the exam, Shaun received a letter in the mail addressed to him. Every single day leading up to this point, he eagerly asked Dr. Glassman if he'd received any mail. He was anticipating his score report. But Dr. Glassman would remind him that so many exams from so many students took a long time to grade—it might be weeks before he heard back. But yet, that Monday, Shaun was holding the white envelope in his hands. Open it? Leave it closed? Opening it would make room for hurt and disappointment—but leaving it closed would be prolonging the pain of the unknown. Taking a deep breath, Shaun pulled at the crease on the envelope. And in his hands, he held his final score report. His nervous eyes scanned quickly. Some of the important words and numbers on the page popped out at him and helped him piece it all together. He'd passedGiving a small victory cheer in the air with his hand, he hurried into Dr. Glassman's study and waved the paper at him, unable to form the words he desperately wanted to say. "Are those your scores?" Dr. Glassman asked, setting his own paperwork down on his desk. "Wow, those came fast. When I was taking this test, we had to wait months just to hear back." He took the paper from Shaun and also gave it a read over. The boy flapped his hands eagerly, waiting to see the expression on his mentor's face—would it be pride? Happiness?

But Dr. Glassman still looked puzzled. He flipped the paper over and read the address. "Are you sure this is for you? I think they sent you someone else's…" But no. The report was addressed to Shaun Murphy in two places. "You took the SAT," he confirmed. Shaun gave his head a slight shake. "N-N…No, I took the exam for medical school." he replied.

"You what?"

"I saw on the test website that there was an exam for future doctors. I'm a future doctor. I took that one."

"Shaun I thought—Shaun you didn't take the SAT. You took the wrong exam!"

"I took the exam for future doctors. I am a future doctor."

"How in the…there's no way. How many times in conversation did I say 'SAT'? How did you get confused?"

"I didn't. I took the exam for future doctors."

"Shaun…you took the MCAT."

"Yes!"

"…You're not supposed to be able to take that until your late college years."

"The site let me register. I took the test."

"And you didn't…Shaun you got a combined score of 157. That…that can't be possible…"

"Is that an acceptable score for a future doctor?"

"It's…it's a point away from being _perfect_."

"Oh good. I will have good chances."

"How did you…oh my god…how did you learn biochemistry, organic chemistry, calculus, statistics…how on earth did you…how did you _learn_ all that?"

"I want to be a good doctor."

Dr. Glassman's jaw was nearly upon the floor. This boy, this little high school kid with a broken past and a neurological challenge just took and passed an exam meant for post-baccalaureate pre-med college students—not just passed, scored a nearly perfect number. Amazing. Just amazing. "Shaun…" he whispered again, still in near disbelief. "You might be a savant." He immediately looked up at the boy standing before him with fingers nervously working at one another. Shaun gave him a slight, tiny, innocent smile. "I hope that means something good." he said. Dr. Glassman rubbed his eyes, still in astonishment. "Oh my boy," he chuckled. "It means something a thousand times more than just good."


	8. Fifteen

Dr. Glassman was very proud. Shaun had gone from existing in an abusive home where he was viewed as "disabled" to being accepted into college. He was more than just a boy with autism. He was incredible. Every now and then when Shaun was doing his homework, Dr. Glassman found it interesting to sit down with him and ask him to explain a concept or idea off of the homework to him—he called it "study and review time", but really he was just interested in monitoring the way Shaun's brain processed information. And it was nothing short of remarkable.

Shaun was happy these days. He realized he enjoyed learning, and that it was easy when there weren't so many distractions around. He could sit down at his desk and read from his textbook with no fighting parents in the room next to him. He could take his time finishing an assignment and not have to worry about Dad getting upset with how long he'd been sitting at the table. He could use a calculator that had more than four functions (one that wasn't from the dollar store) and not worry about someone throwing it in anger. Of course, this new lifestyle and feeling of success came with some apprehension. Going away to college meant leaving Casper—leaving Dr. Glassman. Was he ready for that? The things he heard about college; roommates, dorms, lecture halls, libraries, dining halls, multiple buildings—it all sounded like too much to have to handle right away. He didn't want to tell this to Dr. Glassman though. Not when it was clear how proud he was making him. So Shaun kept it inside and pondered it.

However on this particular day, Shaun was feeling very very empty. A weight had landed on his chest since midnight and prevented him from sleeping through the night at all. Sitting at breakfast, he could barely keep his eyes open. Yet he didn't want to give off any signs that something was wrong—he just didn't want to disappoint Dr. Glassman after how proud of him he'd been lately. But today was a somber day. Shaun held his toy scalpel in his hand gently ran his fingers on the plastic blade over and over. He shouldn't feel this way—he should be happy. This was a happy time. This was a time where he should feel accomplished and confident and _happy_ … Tears stung his eyes. Don't cry, don't cry. Dr. Glassman is coming. "Yes, just move her to tomorrow's schedule. I don't mind going in a little early." he said. He was on the phone. Good—that gave Shaun some time to suck the tears back in. "See if that's ok with her first. But we've got to get that pre-op clearance in her chart before anything so remind her to bring it please? Thank you." Dr. Glassman moved Shaun's jacket from the dining room chair to near his backpack as he ended his conversation with his receptionist. He seated himself at the table. "Sorry about that," he said, reaching for his coffee mug. He began working on the initial task he'd set out to complete before being interrupted by the phone call, which was writing a check that he wanted to mail out for payment on the electricity bill. Shaun watched, carefully focusing on the way Dr. Glassman wrote his numbers—any sort of distraction from the troubling thoughts he was having. After signing his scratchy signature on the bottom line, he went to the date box. He paused and looked up. "What's today's date?" he asked aloud, knowing Shaun got the exact date right 99.9% of the time he was asked.

Instant tears. Shaun couldn't stop them. He didn't let out a sob though—his eyes just leaked and he quietly held back any change in his breathing pattern. Don't make Dr. Glassman feel not proud. Don't make Dr. Glassman feel not proud… But unfortunately, Dr. Glassman did look up when he didn't hear an answer to his question and noticed instantly that Shaun was crying. "Shaun, are you alright?" he asked. The boy let out a gasp and rocked himself in his chair. He clutched the toy scalpel close to his chest. "Shaun," Dr. Glassman reached out to gently try to steady him but he pulled his shoulder back. Something clearly had him upset. "I-It's…" he stammered. "I-I-It's…past 5:23am…" Dr. Glassman glanced sideways at his watch. "Yeah, it is." he quietly affirmed. Was there a routine he'd forgotten this morning? Shaun squeezed his eyes closed. "H-He would…be fifteen now."

It dawned upon Dr. Glassman. He hadn't realized, but today was Steve's birthday. Gathering from what Shaun said, apparently his brother was born at 5:23am—something he had no idea how Shaun remembered or kept track of, but it was obviously important to him. Dr. Glassman set down his pen and put a hand over his mouth. Why did he feel somewhat guilty? "Shaun…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry." Shaun was angry with himself for crying. He didn't want to cry all day today. At least not in front of anyone. Especially Dr. Glassman. He turned his face away, trying to steady his breathing and make the tears stop rolling. When it was Steve's birthday last year, Dr. Glassman made sure he'd planned a somewhat busy day to keep Shaun's mind off of it. Apparently this year he'd forgotten with all of the excitement going on.

He let Shaun cry for a while and catch his breath again before he suggested that Shaun stay home from school and do whatever he wanted. The boy quietly sniffled a little, thinking hard about the question at hand. Much to Dr. Glassman's surprise, his tearful answer came quicker than he expected. "I want to go to his grave." Never before had Shaun ever asked for this. And never before had Dr. Glassman even suggested it. Shaun had eruptive and strong emotional reactions to things, and it just didn't feel right to ever suggest bringing him to a place where such an unbelievable thing was forced into reality. "You do?" he asked. But he was answered with a firm and quick nod. "Ok…" Was this really going to help him? Or cause him more pain?

As they got into the car, Dr. Glassman asked Shaun, "Did you want to bring anything to the gravesite?" Shaun looked confused. "Why would I bring him anything? He's dead."

"Well sometimes people bring things that…you know, the person would like."

"How would he enjoy it?"

"Shaun, its….ok, like flowers. People bring bouquets to the gravesite of their loved one to make it look a little nicer. More peaceful."

"S-Steve hated flowers."

Quickly seeing this wasn't going to get them anywhere and that Shaun was in no mood to be pushed for an explanation, Dr. Glassman allowed for the conversation to drop there. He let the boy sit in silence for the rest of the trip to the cemetery, quietly looking out the window. When they pulled up to the entrance, he noticed Shaun get a little more rigid in his posture. It was becoming real for him. "Do you want me to stay in the car, or come with you?" he asked softly. Shaun was clearly a bit nervous. "W-What do I do when I get there?" he questioned.

"Well…if you're feeling sad you can cry. People like to sit down and pray too, if you want to be…religious. Sometimes it helps to talk to the person as if they were sitting there. Just have…have a conversation with Steve."

"…Will you…wait in the car?"

"Of course I will."

Dr. Glassman clearly remembered exactly where the small nameplate was in the area of the cemetery, because often he would pass by it while he made a trip over to the other precious gravesite in his life. When he parked the car on the road closest to the plot, he reminded Shaun to wear his jacket—it was cold and gray outside. Shaun slipped out of the car. He closed the door behind him and walked slowly through the grass to the gray piece of concrete that had a bronze plate on it. There were a few around there just like it, but Shaun could pick the name out from anywhere. Steven J. Murphy. Just seeing that name with the birth year and death year—only twelve apart from each other—made Shaun's stomach drop. "H-Hi," he said aloud. Talk to Steve? Have a conversation with him? How? It didn't make sense. Steve wouldn't answer back. Why talk to a rock? Shaun sat down on the grass and picked at a few blades nervously. He didn't know what to say. His mind, which usually raced faster than he could process, was blank. Just blank. So where were these tears coming from then?

Shaun let himself take a moment—Dr. Glassman had said it was ok to cry. He thought about the very last birthday he'd spent with Steve, in their little bus. They had no money. He remembered feeling guilty because he didn't have enough to get him a birthday cake, or even a cupcake for that matter. And yet, Steve smiled at him, rumpled his hair, and told him he loved him. Shaun dug into his pocket and pulled out the special plastic scalpel. He held it up to the name plate. His hands trembled as he showed his brother that he still had it—his most prized possession. Suddenly the thoughts came rushing back into his brain in one swift burst. College, going away, leaving Dr. Glassman, leaving the house, leaving the area where the junkyard containing their bus was so close, leaving Steve behind. "I-I…" he stammered through his tears. "I don't want to _go…_ "

Dr. Glassman watched Shaun's process from his seat in the car. Grief was a terrible thing. He'd seen it destroy so many people—take them away from the reality of their daily life. He wondered if bringing Shaun was the best thing to do for him. Maybe he thought he was ready, but actually wasn't. Getting lost in his thoughts and memories of his own grieving process, he only came back to the present when he saw the boy lay down. "Oh god, not in the grass, Shaun." he said aloud. He'd _just_ washed that jacket. It was the only one Shaun would wear because it had no tags and it "smelled like home". Regardless, Dr. Glassman sighed. This was just part of his process.

Shaun laid there in the wet, cold grass. He clutched his plastic scalpel close to his chest as the tears poured down his face. Whenever he had been feeling sad, missing his bed, missing his toys at home, Steve would always let him slide over and join him on the mattress he used to sleep on in their bus. And while he let Shaun cry or feel sad, he would also just lay with an arm around him. Never again. Shaun never wanted to hugged or held like that ever again. Because nothing could ever compare to how Steve used to do it. Nothing could even try. Shaun laid there, trying to think hard about what Dr. Glassman had advised. Have a conversation with Steve as if he was right there. Shaun didn't feel like talking. The real Steve could read him very well and never forced him to talk about anything. Maybe if he just laid here, he could still feel close to Steve…

Dr. Glassman waited about ten minutes before becoming worried about Shaun just lying there in the grass, and he shut the car off and went outside to him. When he was just a few steps away, he noticed Shaun's breathing was slow, regular. Upon closer examination, he realized Shaun had fallen asleep. He'd fallen asleep that fast when he knew he was with his brother. At home it usually took three hours, about four fights, and nine different means of stimming to get him to calm down enough to even settle for resting. Dr. Glassman returned to the car and pulled out a big wool blanket he always had in the trunk just in case of emergency. He brought it back out to the sleeping boy and placed it over him. Shaun didn't even stir.

Realizing the best thing for him was to probably get a good amount of comforted (and restful) sleep, Dr. Glassman seated himself on the grass beside his boy. He glanced down at the placard of Steve Murphy. Dr. Glassman liked to visit the cemetery once a week, early in the morning before going in to work, but after dropping Shaun off at school. He had his own business to attend to there, but he had changed his walking route to his special gravesite over the last two years—he now made sure he parked just a bit farther up the pathway so that when he walked to the plot, he would pass this grave. Every time he did, he stopped for a brief moment. "I'm going to take good care of him for you," he'd whisper to the placard before continuing on on his walk to his personal business. As he sat there now with Shaun finally at peace, he gave the gravesite a sad smile. "He's doing great," he whispered. "He loves you. …But I love him too. And I'm going to keep taking good care of him." He stayed there in silence for a very long time, just absorbing the quiet, taking in the peacefulness. Shaun was not only his little mystery that he happened to stumble upon one stormy night bringing a dead rabbit into his office. Shaun was his second chance at caregiving. Family. Fatherhood. As much as Shaun said he hated fathers and that Dr. Glassman was not and never would be his father, he was still a caregiver raising a young boy through his most difficult and confusing years.

Dr. Glassman didn't realize how much time had passed by until Shaun began to stir uncomfortably. When his sore, reddened eyes opened and he saw Dr. Glassman had joined him, he instantly apologized. But the doctor didn't mind. He was just glad Shaun was more at peace with this than he expected him to be. The pair spent a bit more time there in closing, then got up and continued on to go eat breakfast together at their favorite place. Shaun felt a little bit better after having some "time" with Steve. It was different than he was used to, but it at least didn't feel so lonely anymore. However, it wasn't until he got home that he really felt like everything he'd thought about at that gravesite had been heard by Steve up in Heaven. Because when Shaun did his daily duty of grabbing the letters from the mailbox, he opened it up to find a packet addressed to him. And inside was the acceptance material to a college right down the road from Casper. It was maybe only a forty minute drive away by bus. He could attend there, stay living at home, still have Dr. Glassman with him all the time. They offered all of the courses he needed for pre-med, they had everything. Shaun squeezed the plastic scalpel in his pocket. Steve was still watching out for him. And just like he somehow always managed to, he gave Shaun a gift when it wasn't even his birthday. This only confirmed for the boy that even though there was a bit of a distance of time and space between them, Steve wasn't gone.


	9. Ready

_Thank you very much for all of your support and reviews. Before I begin this chapter, I want to apologize for the length, but it was important to me that I should write this now. You probably know that at night, I work as a nurse in geriatrics right now. Just this week, I lost a patient who meant a lot to me and it has been quite hard. I miss her very much. But I know that Shaun and I would probably process this in a similar way, so therefore I can honestly tell you that everything in this chapter is actually "based upon a true story". :)_

* * *

Over the past few months, Shaun had been working hard at his academics and proving to be very successful. As good as things had been going, he was still learning and had a ways to go in improving his social skills. Thankfully, the neighbors had great timing in deciding to take a vacation that spring. They'd asked Dr. Glassman if Shaun would be willing to go over to their home and watch their dog for a few days while they were gone. He knew that Shaun was very meticulous and structured and careful, however this was his first "job", not counting the record filing he assisted with at the neurology clinic after school. To be fair, he was nervous for Shaun. He did go over to the neighbor's house with the boy for the first few times to make sure everything went smoothly and that Shaun understood what was expected of him and what the routine should be. He was glad the large dog was friendly, old, and in no hurry to get things done.

Because Shaun did so well "babysitting", as he called it, the neighbors consistently asked him to return to take care of the dog whenever they were going to be away. Shaun was happy, the dog was happy, Dr. Glassman was happy. What else could one want? However, it was becoming clear that there was a demand for clinical experience starting early in a pre-medical student's life in order to keep up with their peers. Dr. Glassman encouraged Shaun to begin thinking about where he would want to try getting a job. Helping at the neurology clinic was great for him, however Dr. Glassman knew he was capable of obtaining a job all on his own and wanted him to have that experience. Of course, with the topic of working on the table came Shaun's most frequently asked question. "Will I be allowed to drive myself?"

He trusted him. He really did. But Dr. Glassman just didn't feel comfortable letting Shaun get behind the wheel. He got so easily lost in thought, wrapped up in his own little world—what if something like that were to happen while he was driving? Shaun was a good kid. But he was unexpectedly hard on himself most times. If something were to ever happen while he was behind the wheel…he might just never forgive himself. So Dr. Glassman asked Shaun to table it. Put it off until he got the hang of working and going to school, then they would talk.

Shaun felt lucky—because of Dr. Glassman, he had good connections with anywhere he wanted to go as far as working in the field of medicine. Dr. Glassman was eagerly encouraging pediatrics because young kids wouldn't mind it if Shaun didn't talk to them or fawn over them or make a fuss. However, the thought of working with young children and having the responsibility of keeping them alive on his shoulders…it was a little too soon, Shaun felt. Same with emergency medicine. Maybe someday, but not yet. Hesitantly, he decided to try working in a nursing home for elderly patients because Dr. Glassman had also encouraged geriatrics because both the elderly and Shaun very much relied upon structured routines. It might be easier on him.

For the first few weeks, Shaun had felt internally terrified going to work after school three days a week. What if he made a mistake? What if something happened to one of the seniors on his watch? What if he killed someone by accident just like he killed Steve— "What's your name?" The weak voice of an elderly woman ripped Shaun out of his dwelling in the past and threw him into reality. He glanced down at her in her wheelchair. They were in an elevator, bringing her back to her room after having just eaten dinner. This particular woman, Mrs. White, always asked what his name was. Always. Every ten minutes. "I-I'm…S-Shaun Murphy." he replied. The woman smiled and nodded. "Ohhhh. Are you bringing me to dinner?" At first, Shaun didn't really understand how someone could forget things so quickly, so repetitive questions often felt irritating to him. But the more time he spent with the people here, the more he adjusted to it. "You just had dinner." he stated. The woman smiled and nodded again, clearly not remembering but accepting her caregiver's answer.

After bringing Mrs. White to her room and helping her into her chair, Shaun's next task for that evening was checking in on an elderly man who was constantly miserable and always had a complaint ready on the tip of his tongue. Shaun didn't particularly liked spending any time with this patient. However since he was new to the staff, he was often given the most trying seniors as "practice". Hesitantly, he knocked on the door of room 301. "What?!" a grumbled voice shouted as he entered the room. Shaun paced over to the large man sitting in his chair in front of a television set that was playing way too loud for comfort. His fingers twitched nervously. "M-Mr. Moore," he greeted.

"Oh god. You again."

"I-It is me."

"What the hell do you want now?"

"I'm here to check on you."

"Ta-da. I'm still here. Now would you leave me alone?"

"I-I'm supposed to check on your catheter bag to make sure it isn't full."

"Jesus Christ, can't you just go? I'm sick of you all coming in here every hour."

"Y-Your doctor requests hourly checks on your output because of your kidney condition."

"My doctor is a damn fool."

"Doctors are smart."

"Ha. Not all doctors. Will you hurry up and do whatever you need to do to get the hell out of here?"

Shaun pulled on a pair of gloves and immediately started his work on the catheter bag. He noted the man's output to be slightly dark orange, and rather opaque. "A-Are you drinking water?"

"And are you my doctor? No. Don't tell me what to do." the man snapped back. Shaun remained quiet as he continued his task. Once the bag was empty, he stood up to go. He glanced back at Mr. Moore to give a parting wave (which would hopefully not upset him too much). The man was staring at his tv screen, sweat beading on his forehead. "I-Is everything ok, Mr. Moore?" Shaun asked, not entirely sure that he should be perspiring on a cold night. "It would be better if you weren't annoying the piss out of me." his patient retorted. Shaun gave a quick wave of a hand goodbye and then slid out of the room.

His next senior, Mrs. Fields, he visited around the time she was going to go to bed. In between helping his patients, Shaun brought a book to read and often settled into a quiet hallway away from his coworkers so that he could read in peace. The next woman he was going to help get into bed was one of his favorites. Her room wasn't crowded with pictures or junk—it was open, free, and smelled like roses all the time. She was very very old, but still very much independent. Shaun liked listening to her stories from her younger years—she'd been a pediatric nurse and had so many things to tell him. It worked out because she was often a talker, and he was a listener. There wasn't any pressure in a conversation. Shaun went to her room and knocked quietly on the door. "Well if it isn't little Mr. Murphy," her feeble voice cooed upon his entrance. Shaun gave her a wave. She reached out for him from her seat on the sofa and took his hand. Nervous, he avoided her kind gaze. No one could ever hold his hand the way Steve did. "And how was your day, little Mr. Murphy?" she asked. Shaun gave a nod. "Good," he replied. She smiled. "Oh lovely." The brightness in her eyes dimmed a bit, which Shaun noticed. He looked at her now. "How was your day?" he said to her. He was trying very hard to improve his communication with people. She smiled sadly. "Oh it was wonderful. A wonderful day." She moved her hand away from his and rested it with her other one in her lap. They stayed quiet for a long time. He watched her—usually she had much more to talk about than this. "W-What are you doing?" he asked quietly. She smiled again. "I'm just thinking," she said. "Sometimes when I don't quite know what to say, I just hold my hands together to give them something to do while my brain catches up."

This interested Shaun, someone who always had nervous and neurologically "itchy" fingers. Keeping an eye on her position, he folded his own hands in his lap. Keeping them clasped together made it easier for him to be steady. He felt as if he looked calmer too. A few more moments went by. He kept glancing at his patient, hoping she would initiate more conversation. It was hard for him to start it. She saw him looking at her, so she took a breath. "I'm going to die tonight," she softly murmured. Shaun tensed. He quickly shook his head, lost for words. How could she say that? Why would she say that? He rubbed his hands together nervously. "Oh, don't fret, little Mr. Murphy," she encouraged gently. "I'm ready to go. I just don't…feel quite right tonight. I'm old, sweetheart. I've lived a good life. I just can't…my heart is just getting weaker. And I know when I go, I'm going to see my husband." Shaun's own heart raced. She couldn't die. How could she say that? How could she expect it? He squeezed his fingers together. "I-I need to call an ambulance," he stated. She reached for his arm. "Oh, don't do that, honey."

"I need to call an ambulance. You are…You are not feeling right. You said you feel weak at your heart and that could be a symptom for congestive heart failure with hypoxia—"

"Sweetie, I know, but I'm ready."

"N-No…no…. You can't be ready."

"Oh but I'm very much looking forward to—"

"You're not ready!" Shaun raised his voice. He could feel unexpected tears coming.

Mrs. Fields brushed his hand. "Are you not ready?" she asked quietly. Tears fell from Shaun's eyes. "I need to call an ambulance." he said. Mrs. Fields closed her eyes. "It probably will be too late. But if it's going to make you feel better, I'll go with them." she said. Shaun whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and he dialed 9-1-1 as per protocol. The conversation did not go well.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"I need…I need an ambulance."

"What's your location and what's going on, sir?"

"I'm at…work…I'm at work and Mrs. Fields is…she can't die yet. I need an ambulance."

"Sir, can you tell me what your location is?"

The room was spinning for Shaun. He was feeling overwhelmed, scared—what if another one of the precious people in his life passed away in front of him?

"Sir, I need your location."

"I'm…I'm…"

"We're at the Garden Groves nursing home on 114th street in Casper, Wyoming." Mrs. Fields said into the phone. She took Shaun's hand again with a reassuring smile.

"With whom am I speaking?" the operator continued.

"I'm…the nurse." Mrs. Fields said, giving Shaun a wink.

"Is the patient in question alert and breathing?"

"Oh yes ma'am. We would just like her to get checked at the hospital for her heart."

"I've got a medic in route to Garden Groves on 114th street, in Casper Wyoming."

Shaun rubbed at his eyes. He felt embarrassed, pained. Mrs. Fields touched his hand again. "Oh my little Mr. Murphy," she said sweetly. "Don't cry. It's going to be ok." Shaun couldn't meet her eyes. Why did this have to happen to everyone that was so kind to him? Why didn't the kind people ever make it in the world? Shaun could already hear sirens coming. She squeezed his hand, her face was getting paler and her breathing was deep. "You're going to be a good doctor," she whispered to him. "Want me to say hello to your brother for you?" Shaun could hear the paramedics' radios coming down the hallway. He nodded. "You've got a good brain, little Mr. Murphy," she continued. "You're going to help a lot of people."

The next few moments felt like a blur to Shaun. A group of men in blue and white burst into the room, pulled Mrs. Fields up onto a stretcher, and began listening to her pulse and talking amongst themselves. As they rolled her out of her room, she definitely looked like she was much weaker than before. Shaun's heart hurt. She waved to him weakly before they turned the stretcher around and rushed towards their ambulance. The nurse on duty with the nursing home watched the paramedics take her away, then went to Shaun. "It's hard," she said. "You get attached to these oldies and then they die on you." Shaun rubbed his face. "She can't be ready." he said. The nurse sighed. "She's ninety-three, Shaun. She's been missing her husband for years and she's been on hospice since February. It's her time. She's accepted it. We all die. If we accepted that, we could be happier." The nurse put her hand on Shaun's shoulder, which he shrugged off uncomfortably. Suddenly his breath caught. Mr. Moore hadn't accepted it. Mr. Moore wasn't ready to go yet and there was something not right. Shaun's immediately began searching his brain—there was something not right, it wasn't Mr. Moore's time. Mr. Moore was usually irritable, grouchy. But the orange, opaque urine output was different—the sweating, the flushed and pallid skin—it wasn't right. He said he was fine. He wasn't. He was in denial. "M-Mrs. Fields knew something was wrong," Shaun murmured, half to himself, half to the nurse. "She knew something was wrong and she accepted it because she was ready to die. Mr. Moore knows something is wrong. He denies it. He denies it because he isn't ready to die. He isn't ready to die. He doesn't want to face it!" Shaun bolted out the door, not stopping for a moment even when the nurse asked for clarification.

He ran all the way to room 301 and burst through the door without knocking. It had been a few hours since he'd come to see Mr. Moore, since he had become so busy. Things had changed. Something wasn't right. "M-Mr. Moore?" Shaun asked, shaking the man's large arm. The clammy, panting man shook his head. There was vomit on the front of his shirt. "I'm sorry, kid." he gasped. "Sorry about what I said." Shaun nervously looked at the urinary drainage bag from the catheter. It was now filled with a darker, thick liquid. "Mr. Moore, you need to go to the hospital." Shaun said, clasping his hands together to appear composed even though he was very much not. The man shook his head. "I'm fine," he rasped out. "Just a little tired." Shaun grabbed the man's wrist and counted his pulse. No. Something was very wrong. "Mr. Moore I think you are having renal failure and that you need to go to the hospital." Shaun said, his heart racing. He pulled his phone out and again dialed 9-1-1. Pacing the room, he focused hard on everything they were going to say. He couldn't mess this up.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"M-My name is Shaun Murphy, I am working at Garden Groves nursing home on 114th street in Casper, Wyoming, and my patient is experiencing renal failure with possible sepsis!" he stammered.

"Is the patient alert and oriented?"

"He is conscious but not…not…he has not accepted death yet and is holding onto his life."

"…Can you clarify that?"

"He says he is fine but he is not. He is not fine. He is going to die if he isn't treated and he is not ready to die yet!"

The nurse on duty stepped into the room and threw her hands in the air. "Will you stop calling the god damn ambulance for everything, Shaun?" she cried out. Unable to describe the situation any further, he pointed to the man in the chair that was again vomiting all over himself. The nurse gasped. She grabbed the phone from Shaun and began speaking with the 9-1-1 operator. Shaun stayed by Mr. Moore's side. "You're not going to die tonight." he told him. With hazy eyes, the old man gave a gulp. "I…sure hope not." he whispered almost inaudibly.

Once again, another ambulance came pulling up to the front of the nursing home, but this time, Shaun didn't get to say goodbye to his patient because Dr. Glassman had already arrived to pick him up. Shaun stared at the ambulance as he walked out with his caregiver, sending silent hopes that he'd made the right call and hopefully spared someone. He got into the car with Dr. Glassman. The man let out a breath once they were alone. "Having your first patient die is hard for everyone, Shaun." he said.

"H-How did you know…"

"The nurse on duty gave me a call when they came for Mrs. Fields. She knew you two were close, and she knew this was going to be hard on you."

"…M-Mrs. Fields was ready."

"Yeah, that can happen."

"But Mr. Moore wasn't,"

Dr. Glassman gave Shaun a gentle rumple of his hair, then began driving away. The boy was silent on the ride home. He just stared out the window. When they pulled into the driveway of their home, Dr. Glassman broke the quietness with a soft clearing of his throat. "Medicine can be an emotionally trying field," he murmured. "If it feels like it's getting to be too much for you…Shaun, it's ok to take a little break every now and then." The boy didn't answer. They went into the house and he immediately began dressing for bed, even though it wasn't that late in the night. Inside, he was exhausted. Mentally, physically… it was a lot to handle for one day. His favorite patient was gone. How could she have known she was ready to die? How could anyone be ready to die? Steve wasn't ready, that's why he shouldn't have had to…

Clutching his stuffed rabbit close to him, Shaun let his tears fall yet again. How could he ever be a doctor if everyone around him kept passing away? Eventually, Shaun fell asleep. His tired, sore body was in desperate need of a good rest. He had done too much overthinking.

Dr. Glassman sat in his small office, charting some MRI results he needed to finish up for work in the morning. He too was having a rough time with overthinking. Was Shaun really ready for this? He was incredibly intelligent—had a brilliant mind. But emotionally, he was just a child. Could he take on the responsibility of caring for others so quickly? Or was Dr. Glassman himself just pushing the boy too hard? He'd been through so much. Was this the right step, at the right time? Though he often tried not to show it, Shaun was sensitive. Without a doubt. Shaun was anxious. Shaun was not confident in himself yet. Was he going to be able to be under so much pressure and still function at the capacity Dr. Glassman knew he could? But God, this boy was so brilliant. He saw things that no one else could see. He noticed the slightest details—he had the brain every doctor wished they had. He had the abilities, and the skills. He could absolutely succeed, right?

Shaun awoke to a gentle hand tapping on his shoulder and stroking his hair. "Shaun," Dr. Glassman's voice said. Sleepily, Shaun sat up and rubbed his eyes. Was it time to get up already? His blurry eyes glanced at the clock. 1:39am. "Hey," Dr. Glassman whispered. "I wanted you to know something." Yawning, Shaun rubbed his eyes and gave a nod to indicate he was listening. "I called the hospital to check on Mr. Moore for you. Shaun…you did amazing. As soon as he was brought in, they put him immediately on dialysis and began operating on his kidneys. He was experiencing sepsis, just like you thought." The boy processed this information, and gave a slight smile. Dr. Glassman proudly grabbed his shoulders. "You saved his life, Shaun. You made the right call." Shaun smiled bigger now, giving a little victory cheer with his hands. "Oh my god, the doctor even called your nursing home and asked them to give you props for making such a quick and accurate judgment about a patient. If Mr. Moore had waited any longer, he might not have made it. But he's alive, and it's because of you." Shaun hugged himself, silently letting out a breath of relief. Mr. Moore was going to be ok. And despite being under stress and dealing with the pressure of having two patients dying at once, he was able to make a decision—a good decision. Shaun glanced up at the top of the window in his room up at the night sky. He hoped that Mrs. Fields was giving Steve his hello, and he hoped they both saw him save a life.

Because deep down he knew he'd done it with them in mind.


	10. Friend

It was nearing that time of year—where all of the girls in high school began shopping for fancy dresses, boys set their eye out on who they wanted to get to know better. It was prom season. Which everyone seemed to be thrilled about, but one high school senior was secretly dreading. It was bad enough everyone at school incessantly talked about it. He hated when Dr. Glassman would hint around it at home too.

Of course, Shaun liked to keep to himself. Any new friends he made he didn't allow to get too close to him. He just preferred to go to school, learn, go to work, and then go home. It was a routine. It never failed him. Adding in too many other variables created stressful days that were difficult to navigate the uncertainty of new conversations and situations and _everything_. He knew that if he ever did need to talk about something, Dr. Glassman was his closest friend. However, not every topic was quite so easy to bring up. Lately prom and finishing his senior year of high school had been on Shaun's mind, a bit overwhelmingly. How could he express that without sounding like he desperately wanted to join in on all the fun, but also not seem like he didn't care either way?

On a Sunday morning, Shaun sat at the breakfast table rigidly and stared into his bowl of oatmeal. He was patiently waiting for Dr. Glassman to finish fixing his own coffee and to join him for breakfast after he'd just worked a long, unexpected overnight shift at the hospital. Yawning, Dr. Glassman sat down and took a sip of his coffee. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Upon noticing that Shaun didn't appear to be very appetized, he said, "Shaun, are you going to eat your breakfast? I thought that was the kind you liked. The oatmeal with the sugar dinosaur eggs in it." Shaun shifted in his chair, grabbing his spoon. He really only liked one kind of oatmeal, and yes it was meant for children but he didn't care. Neither did Dr. Glassman. Shaun was so picky, he realized it was beneficial to basically buy stock in whatever it was Shaun did like to eat or else he would just leave food on his plate. He let the conversation go when he noticed the boy looked odd. A few minutes of silence passed between them. Finally, Shaun took a deep breath. "Dylan says he's thinking about taking Caylie to prom." he said. Puzzled, Dr. Glassman thought over his response carefully. Why was Shaun bringing this up out of the blue? "Is Dylan the kid who sits with you at lunch? The one who you go to the library with sometimes?"

"Yes, that's Dylan."

"Oh. Ok."

"…But he wants to ask Caylie to the prom."

"Yeah, you said. Is there…what's wrong with him liking Caylie?"

"I wish he would ask someone else instead. Caylie is not always nice to him because she doesn't answer his texts. He told me."

It had been a bit of a mystery to Dr. Glassman how Shaun and this Dylan kid became actual friends. Apparently they'd been seated together at some assembly and then realized they had the same lunch time, so Dylan began sitting with Shaun in the library at lunch for some company. He was pretty sure that's how it went. Sometimes Shaun was very quiet about his friendships. "Well," Dr. Glassman sighed. "Maybe she's just playing hard to get. That's what girls do."

"That's…stupid."

"Shaun…are you sort of maybe wanting to go to the prom? It only happens once in your life."

"I don't have anyone to go with. Unless things don't work out with Dylan and Caylie. Then I will go with Dylan."

"…Do you…Shaun, do you… _like_ Dylan?"

"Yes, I like Dylan. He is my friend."

"I mean…maybe do you like him as…more than just a friend? It's ok if you do, there's nothing wrong with it and I wouldn't be mad—"

"N-Noooo I do not like Dylan that way. Dylan is just my friend."

"Ok. That's fine too."

"…I like…I like Ashley."

Dr. Glassman nearly choked on the sip of coffee he'd taken. What?! Shaun liked someone? Play it cool, play it cool… He nodded calmly. "Ashley. That sounds like a nice name. What's she like?" he asked. Inside his heart was pounding. How long had Shaun had this little crush? Shaun looked slightly off to the left. "She has a cat with three legs, her hair is brown, and she used to have braces but not anymore." he explained. Dr. Glassman nodded again. "That's great. Where did you meet her?"

"At my desk."

"I see. Is she smart? What do her parents do? Does she have brothers and sisters?"

"I don't know any of that."

"Well…have you ever asked her?"

"I haven't ever talked to her."

Dr. Glassman felt his heart sink a little. So this was just an 'admiration-from-a-distance' type of romance. Well, maybe Shaun still had a chance. "Why don't you ever talk to her?" he asked gently. Now was not the time to push the boy—he was finally opening up again. This was rare. "I don't talk to her because she probably does not know I exist. I talk about her to Dylan though. Dylan knows I like her." he replied.

"Well maybe you'd feel better if you got some advice from Dylan about how to get to know her."

"…Dr. Glassman, what is 'the talk'?"

A weight dropped directly into Dr. Glassman's stomach. There had been quite a few things that he had found difficult while raising Shaun—getting him to use language skills to identify emotions caused a screaming match, trying to teach him how to shave his face took twenty-eight days because of all of the fearful crying, and making him answer the phone when it rang was near torture. He knew that explaining this was going to be one of those things he could add to the list. Shaun was smart, very smart—but trying to explain love and connection….he'd tried to put it off as long as he could. He'd hoped that like every other teenage boy, Shaun would hear things at school or sort of "figure things out" on his own. However he forgot who he was dealing with. The shiest and quietest kid in the entire school. Dr. Glassman sighed and put his head into his hands. "Why are you asking me that, Shaun?" he said. Shaun put his spoon down. "Dylan said that I should have had 'the talk' a long time ago because his parents gave it to him a long time ago. But I don't know what talk he means. So I asked him and he told me to ask my dad but I hate fathers so I'm asking you instead." Shaun was so proud that he'd asked a question—that he'd spoken what was on his mind. Dr. Glassman could tell. He let out another sigh. "I think all you need to know about that right now is that I want you to wait until you're married or find someone very special."

"Did you wait until you were married?"

Damn it. "…Ok, go into my office and bring me the eighty-sixth edition of Hofstettler's desk reference, please." he instructed. Shaun obediently left the table. He knew he wasn't asking such questions to be invasive—to Shaun this was just a normal conversation. And that's why Dr. Glassman realized he'd rather have Shaun learn what was appropriate and what wasn't, just so he could be safe. And this was the only easy way Dr. Glassman could think of getting through such a conversation—the only way Shaun might understand. A completely physiological, biological context.

…

Shaun nervously rubbed his hands together as he sat at the lunch table at school a few days later. He had been encouraged strongly by Dr. Glassman to go talk to Ashley, strike up a conversation, and then ask if she wanted to go to the prom. He passed his apple back and forth in his hands nervously. What would happen if she said no? What if she laughed at him in front of everyone? Then everyone would laugh, everyone would point at him and get too close. Shaun could feel his breathing quicken. If he made a fool of himself, Dr. Glassman would be so embarrassed. Dylan would be so embarrassed. Oh he couldn't mess this up…

Shaun was pulled back to his reality when someone sat down across from him. He looked up. "You're still reading the same nervous system chapter?" Dylan asked. He swung his backpack down onto the bench. Shaun looked down at his own apple. "Yes," he replied.

"I figured you'd have already been done with it, the way you read so fast."

"…I had to skip forward a few chapters."

"Why'd you read out of order?"

"I was reading the urogenital and reproductive system chapters to understand 'the talk'."

Dylan's brown eyes widened and he stopped chewing the mouthful of his sandwich he'd taken in the meantime. "Oh," he said. "I didn't realize you'd…gotten that." Shaun nodded with a big smile. "Y-Yes, I asked Dr. Glassman and he explained the process so now I understand but I needed some review on the physiology of things so I found the chapter in my book." He was very proud that finally, he measured up to his peers in how much he knew about this "social" activity. Dylan thought for a moment. He dipped a fry into his ketchup and said, "There's more to it than anatomy, Shaun."

"Yes, but the basic process of creating life is just—"

"I think it's something you've got to experience for yourself, Shaun."

"N-No I'm going to wait until I'm married."

"What? Why?"

Shaun fell quiet, not quite sure how to explain to his friend that learning about all of this was strange and awkward and overwhelming, and honestly a little _scary_ … Dylan noticed that Shaun wasn't going to give a response to that, so he decided to shift the subject. "I asked Caylie about the prom." he said, hoping to maybe turn the embarrassing onto himself instead. "She's going with Jack. Can't believe it. How could she want to go with Jack? He's like five feet tall." Shaun gave a small smile—Jack hadn't ever really been nice to him and once tried stealing his homework to copy it for trigonometry. "Have you asked Ashley yet?" Dylan went on. However he was answered with a head shake. "Nervous?" Shaun nodded. A silence passed between the two. "I'm supposed to ask her today, Dr. Glassman said so." Shaun said softly, leaning in to tell Dylan as if it was a secret. He was slightly afraid someone would overhear and then jump in to tease him right away. Dylan gave his friend a half smile, asking, "And how's that gone so far today?" Looking down again at his apple, Shaun gave another shake of his head. He'd seen her that day, his heart had slammed against his ribs, his cheeks had flushed red, his hands had become sweaty… But his brain jammed with a thousand words rushing around, trying to arrange themselves into a syntax that would be considered "normal"… And she'd passed by with her friends, not even noticing his panic. Shaun felt both relieved and disappointed as he watched her walk away. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't want to mess up. Such pressure.

Dylan crunched his now empty bag of chips into a ball to discard in a trash can. "She's in my next class, Shaun." he informed. "If you want, I can talk to her for you. Kind of get an introduction going." Ah. More relief. It would take such a load off of his shoulders if Dylan, the charismatic and outgoing one in the pair, would get Ashley's attention for him without all of that pressure of everything being new. Dylan was a good friend. He gave him a smile, and a quick little nod before the face blushing came back.

…

It had been a few days, and Dylan said he was "getting things going" with Ashley every day for Shaun in their class together. The date for the prom was quickly approaching. And Dr. Glassman was urging him to find out if he was going or not so that they could quickly get him fitted for a tuxedo. It definitely didn't sound like fun, but if it meant he had a chance of Ashley liking him back, he could handle it. Right?

Friday afternoon, Shaun was headed out to meet Dr. Glassman in the parking lot when the final bell rang. He was excited—Dylan had said that he had an answer for Shaun from Ashley that he needed to give him in person. This meant good news. It had to. Why else would he wait until the end of the day to tell him? Maybe Ashley was going to be there too. Meet Dylan near the second water fountain in the first floor hallway of building 221. Meet Dylan near the second water fountain in the first floor hallway of building 221. Oh no. That paper. That paper! Shaun was supposed to turn in a paper to the registrar that Dr. Glassman signed regarding his release of transcripts to send to his college. Glancing at his watch, Shaun determined he had just enough time. He hurried back through the building, pushed through the office doors, and handed the paper to the receptionist without a word. She raised her eyebrows at him, but he gave her an innocent little wave before rushing back out the door to make it to his meeting spot.

Suddenly, Shaun stopped dead in his tracks. Just ahead of him near the corner of the chemistry hallway, he saw Dylan. He saw Dylan walking with Ashley. He saw Dylan holding Ashley's hand. It felt like time stood still. Like everything was moving in slow motion. Why were they holding hands? Were they just doing it because they were friends? Were they— Shaun felt his heart shiver. Dylan turned his head as he talked to the girl and caught sight of Shaun staring at them. His face dropped. He quickly told Ashley that he'd catch up with her later and he left her side to go stand in front of Shaun.

Shaun held his backpack straps and avoided eye contact with his friend, trying to keep tears from coming. "Hey," Dylan sighed. "So…" Before he could say anything else, Shaun shifted uncomfortably. "Shaun, I'm sorry." Dylan said quietly. "I just…got to talking to her and realized…I really liked her. And she was into me. It just…I don't know, Shaun, it just happened." He reached out to put a hand on his shoulder but Shaun jerked away. He kept his head down. "Shaun…" Dylan began. The smaller boy looked down at his watch, realizing that it was beginning to get late to meet Dr. Glassman. He pulled on his backpack straps, looked down at his shoes, and turned away. He walked down the hallway alone, leaving Dylan standing there in guilt.

Dr. Glassman was cheerful when Shaun climbed into the car—he was eager to hear about how his day went and how things went with this new crush. But when the boy got into the car and didn't look up, he could tell something was wrong. "Everything ok?" he asked. "Shaun?" He went to put a gentle hand on his shoulder but Shaun pulled away. He decided that whatever happened must not have been good, so he began driving away and gave him some quiet time to come out of his mood.

How could this happen? Why would Dylan do that to him? He knew he liked Ashley, he'd talked about her all the time. He'd trusted him to help him. And he'd broken it. Taking a deep breath, Shaun murmured, "Dylan is not my friend." So much time had passed since they'd left the school, that Dr. Glassman was a bit startled to hear the sound of his voice out of nowhere. "What?" he asked. "Why is he not your friend?"

"He…he broke my trust."

"How so?"

"He took…Ashley for himself."

"Oh Shaun…"

Dr. Glassman felt his own heart sink. Exactly what he feared—someone broke Shaun's heart and he let it happen. He should've taught him to be more guarded, more confident! His first crush and it was completely spoiled. It wasn't fair for Shaun to have to go through this. He'd been trying so hard. He didn't deserve this. Dr. Glassman had operated on and fixed a lot of things in his life—lungs, brains, spines, hearts, stomachs… But no cardiothoracic trauma experience could teach him how to heal a broken heart. Especially for someone as innocent and sweet and pure as Shaun. There had to be something he could do to take the pain away, to make him forget about something as small and silly as an unreciprocated crush on a girl. Some sort of analgesic to numb the sting of the wounded emotions…

The night of the prom, Shaun sat at Dr. Glassman's desk in the neurology office as he read about clostridium difficile from the microbial pamphlet he'd found while helping to clean out the bottom drawer of the big desk. He was trying hard not to picture himself with Ashley, what it would've been like to walk into the dance holding her hand, what it would've been like if she liked him back. It was getting a little late—Dr. Glassman had had a full schedule of patients that day and he'd really only stopped to get Shaun a tray of food from the cafeteria for an after-school snack. Shaun laid his head down on the desk as he read. He couldn't tell if he was tired or sad. Was there a difference? Why did they feel the same? A soft knock sounded at the wooden door. He looked up. Dr. Glassman was standing there, wearing blue scrubs and a sad smile on his face. "How are you doing, Shaun?" he asked quietly. The boy sat up and rubbed his eye. He stayed silent. "Shaun, I'm about to head into my seven o'clock surgery." Dr. Glassman went on. "It's a parietal craniotomy. Stage three. Responsive to chemo but it's necessary to remove the mass now to prevent new growth." Shaun glanced up briefly after smoothing out the pamphlet. Dr. Glassman smiled kindly. "I got permission from the family to have a student come scrub in for the operation and just observe the team in the OR. You're the student, Shaun. Would you like to come watch us in person?"

Shaun's eyes widened. Was this happening? "N-No glass window?" he asked. Dr. Glassman shook his head. "Nope. You're with us." Shaun folded his hands together in eagerness, anticipation, anxiety. He was going into an actual operating room? A small smile flashed across his face, and then he rose from his chair and followed Dr. Glassman out of the office. The man put a hand on Shaun's shoulder with a proud smile. This would do the trick. Shaun kept his head up as he walked down the hallway with Dr. Glassman at his side.

Standing there at the operating table and watching the doctors do their procedure, Shaun came to a realization. He looked over at Dr. Glassman, who was so sure of himself and focused and driven. Shaun smiled. He had his friend. He didn't need any others. And there certainly were bigger things to focus on than just a girl when you had a body open on a table in front of you.


	11. Separation

_I don't really know why I wrote this chapter. I'm not the biggest fan of it, but I do hope it moves the overall story along. I hope you're enjoying it. Thank you again for your support and your acceptance of those of us who are neurodiverse. Your desire to learn more drives the world to a kinder place._

* * *

Shaun quickly stepped into Dr. Glassman's office, hurriedly looking for his packet of papers that included his essay which he needed to bring to his class. He knew he just had it. Where could it be? Ok what happened. He'd been working on it on his computer in his room last night. Finished around 2:13am. Slipped out of his room and into Dr. Glassman's empty office to use the printer quietly. He printed it, thought he heard Dr. Glassman's door opening down the hallway, threw all the lights out, grabbed his computer and papers and hurried out of the office and into his bedroom so as not to cause any more disturbance. That meant his paper had to be here, right? He shuffled through some of the folders on the big desk. Maybe he dropped it somewhere into a drawer by accident. "Shaun, let's go, you don't need whatever it is you're looking for." Dr. Glassman's voice said from the front door. They were supposed to be leaving for school. But Shaun _needed_ this paper—his lab group was going to be doing their one-hundred point final presentation in class today, and he was _expected_ to participate or else he would get a zero. His teacher made that clear. Everything he'd typed up the night before and had printed (and now ultimately lost) was bullet points to help guide him along his speech. Without it… oh god, he might get tripped up and caught on a sentence that would make him lose his train of thought and everyone would be staring and his teacher would get angry and certainly give him a zero—

"Shaun, hurry up!" Dr. Glassman encouraged. Shaun opened the second drawer of the desk. Maybe it got stashed away in here while he was throwing things into order? Shaun rummaged through. No, this was just all old but important mail to Dr. Glassman. Letters about patient referrals, office vaccine invoices…wait…what was this letter? Shaun stopped searching and gave the header a scan. San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital. San Jose…Shaun had never heard of such a place. His curiosity kept him reading forward. "Dear Dr. Aaron Glassman," it began in an important-looking font.

"On behalf of the surgery department and board of directors at San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital, we formally invite you to attend an interview with us to discuss the potential opportunities you be provided with if you join our team of surgeons. Your excellence in neurosurgery has caught the attention of Dr. Thomas Buechet and Dr. Ivana Mechenko, our dual Chiefs of Surgery in Neuroscience. The amount of research you have contributed to the advancement of our field is extraordinary. Your impact upon your community has been immense and noted by many public health officials and those within your own hospital system. If you are interested in attending a meeting with us, we can promise you that you will not leave disappointed. You have given so much to your patients, your colleagues, and the field of medicine—we would be honored if you would allow us to give back to you."

Shaun stopped reading. There were two more paragraphs but he couldn't make his eyes look at them. Why was some random hospital sending Dr. Glassman a letter, basically offering him a good job and title? Why did the header have the address of this hospital listed in San Jose California? And most importantly, why did Dr. Glassman stow this letter away in his "important mail" drawer? Shaun's hands began to shake. He'd saved it for a reason. It was saved. It must have been important to him. But why? Dr. Glassman had a happy life and worked in a good practice here in Wyoming. What could California have that would make it better? And worse yet—Shaun was going to school in Wyoming so that he could still live in the same place and not have to adjust to a new home—what would happen if Dr. Glassman wasn't around to share it with him?

Shaun felt his chest tighten. Nervously, he closed the drawer and dashed out of the office, mumbling to Dr. Glassman that he found his paper and was ready to go to school. He kept his face turned towards the window so that he wouldn't have to meet the eyes of the man who he thought was going to always be there for him.

That night, Shaun sat on his bed and flipped through a few pages of the medical textbook on reading EKGs. He traced the pattern of a bradycardiac heartbeat with his finger. Up…down…straight…down down down…up up up…straight…up…down. His mind couldn't stop thinking about the letter Dr. Glassman had saved. How come he'd never mentioned a word about it to Shaun? Was it a secret? _California?_ He heard a soft tap on his open door. Dr. Glassman stood there, a gentle smile on his face. He put his hands in his pockets and stepped into the room. "It's time for lights out," he said softly, as he did every night. Of course Shaun obeyed, but with his racing mind and difficulty sleeping, he often continued to stay up and either work on his schoolwork or read. But tonight Shaun didn't feel right. He felt nervous, empty, suspicious. Dr. Glassman approached the bed, setting a hand on Shaun's shoulder and gently pulling him in for the usual half-hug, lips to the top of the head sort of goodnight parting. "Sleep well, get some rest." he encouraged. Shaun gave the doctor's hand a pat. He knew the routine—when Dr. Glassman said his goodnights, he was supposed to get under the covers, lie down, and prove that he was at least attempting to go to bed. Tonight would be hard. His mind was just off to the races.

It took Shaun hours to find a comfortable enough position to stay still in his bed. Everything about that letter bothered him and he couldn't let it go. Dr. Glassman is going to leave. Dr. Glassman is going to leave. And then what would happen? Loneliness. Homelessness. He'd have to go back and live in the bus. Where else could he go? How was he going to go to college and become a doctor if he didn't have a home? Who was going to take care of him? Shaun felt tears building up in his eyes and throat. He could almost feel his heart breaking down the middle. No, that's silly. The human heart couldn't split down the middle. Not without the help of a ten-blade and a careful cardiothoracic surgeon. But why then did this feel so…painful?

The next morning, Dr. Glassman awoke to a beeping alarm clock, which he made sure to silence right away—he never wanted to run the risk of Shaun getting woken up by it in the other room. Yawning, he sat up, reached for his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He turned on the dimmed lamp on the bedside table and nearly had a heart attack.

In the middle of the bedroom floor was a pile of blankets, moving.

Wait, not just blankets, a pillow too. And messy brown hair. Dr. Glassman rubbed his eyes again. Shaun? What in the hell was the boy doing sleeping on the floor in his room? Was he alright? As if to answer his silent question, Shaun turned over in his sleep and let out a soft breath. Dr. Glassman wasn't sure what the best course of action was—let Shaun stay there because he was obviously finally sleeping, or move him back to his own bed and potentially risk waking him up for the rest of the day? In order to make a decision, he would've liked to know what brought Shaun in initially. Such an odd boy. What on earth could be making Shaun want to sleep on the floor?

Though when Dr. Glassman asked Shaun that morning at breakfast, the boy didn't give an answer. Not at all. And any time the subject came up it was the same reaction. Dr. Glassman realized he was getting nowhere so he dropped it. Perhaps Shaun just had a bad dream and didn't quite feel comfortable being alone. However, it happened again that night. And the next night. And then the next night. Every morning, Dr. Glassman was waking to finding Shaun buried under a blanket on his bedroom floor even though he'd started off in his own room, his own bed. Probing questions continued to lead nowhere. Did Shaun even know he was doing this?

Dr. Glassman walked out of the elevator in the hospital, having just departed his office one Friday afternoon. He was setting out to pick up a stat patient referral from the pediatrics department. It wasn't every day that he got the chance to treat a ten year old girl with dystonia. Thankfully, he'd established good connections with pediatrics ever since he brought Shaun to the ER with appendicitis a few years ago. The doctor they met there agreed to take him on as her patient since they worked well together. Dr. Steiner was great with Shaun. He went for his yearly checkups and she always let him leave with a new book to read, or a new set of infectious disease pamphlets, or anything she could really scare up from around the hospital. Dr. Glassman knocked on the open door to her office upon arrival. She looked up from her desk and smiled. "Thanks for swinging by," she said as rose and handed him a folder full of papers. Dr. Glassman reciprocated a hello and inquired about the new patient's condition.

"Sudden onset," Dr. Steiner informed. "She was fine one day and suddenly mom is rushing her into the ER thinking she was having a seizure."

"At ten years old that…hey…are these her MRIs and EEGs? How do you already have these back from imaging? I send them stuff and they don't give me my results for days."

"I'm dating the radiologist." Dr. Steiner winked.

"Well treat him nicely. It's always good to have a friend in radiology."

"Hey speaking of friends, how's Shaun been doing lately? He's going to need his checkup pretty soon."

"Shaun's doing well. Outstanding grades, improving social skills…doing really…he's great." Dr. Glassman sighed and looked down at the desk.

"Is something wrong, Aaron?"

"It's just…I can't believe he's going to college. He's not even my own kid and…I just can't believe he grew up so fast."

"Yeah, that tends to happen. He doesn't have to be your own. You still raised him. You were his parent in the most crucial years of his life."

"…He's been weird lately. I don't know why but…he's been leaving his own bed in the middle of the night, coming into my room, and sleeping on my floor. Every night. Of course when you ask him about it, you get the usual no response."

"Is he eating normally?"

"Psh. Shaun eats like a bird anyway. Really the only thing that's changed is this new behavior."

"…It sounds almost like he's going through some separation anxiety. Has anything changed at home?"

"Nothing's changed in my home for the four entire years he's been here."

"…Did you tell him about St. Bonaventure?"

Dr. Glassman furrowed his brow. "No, not at all. I couldn't ever explain that one to him." Dr. Steiner had originally come from St. Bonaventure Hospital in San Jose. She was the one who talked about it casually with Dr. Glassman. Recently, he'd been putting an idea together for outreach to the homeless community—to provide them healthcare and treatment that they otherwise wouldn't be able to receive. Of course, this all came from the conditions he found Shaun living in as a young boy. Just days after coming to live with Dr. Glassman, Shaun was immediately diagnosed with bronchitis, paronychia of his left ring finger, a rash from a tickbite on his thigh, and infected blister on his foot where his shoe had been rubbing against his growing feet. All because he and Steve had no way of accessing any medical care. They were just boys—how could they seek out (much less afford) medical attention for their ailments when they didn't even have a place to live? So Dr. Glassman outlined a project. And when Dr. Steiner met Shaun, heard his story, and could relate it to many of the children and families she saw living in poverty, she encouraged him strongly to begin an outreach program. She also encouraged him to diversify the plan and implement it in a large city where even more people were affected by homelessness. Getting in contact with her former colleagues at San Jose, she introduced them to Dr. Glassman. With his surgical experience, excellent patient care, and progressive ideas related to expanding healthcare to the population, they immediately took interest and encouraged him to come join their team of doctors in the hospital. Neurosurgeons were not always easy to come by. And Dr. Glassman had _years_ of experience.

He shook his head again. "He wouldn't know about that. I never told him, not even once. And I haven't even made any decisions. They sent me an invitation to meet with them but I'd rather not give an answer until I'm sure I want to move forward with joining them." he explained with a sigh. Dr. Steiner bit her lip and closed her eyes. "They sent you a letter." she repeated. He nodded his head. Sadly, she smiled at Dr. Glassman. "I can almost guarantee you Shaun saw that letter somehow. He's scared, Aaron. He doesn't understand that you may not even be going there. To him, his entire world right now is shifting. He's going to college. He's going to live with you at home. But now suddenly he's afraid that 'home with you' might be a lot farther away than he was expecting." Dr. Glassman processed this. Could Shaun have seen the invitation? Would it really have produced such a strong effect on him? Dr. Steiner continued. "You're all he has, Aaron. All he's really ever had. He relies on you—you're his world. He'll never admit that but my god you're his hero! The thought of losing you has got to be just…just devastating to a young kid." Dr. Glassman cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit emotional. Dr. Steiner sensed it. "Be open with him. Up front. Explain it calmly and while doing something relaxing. Let Shaun know that he can still trust you." she encouraged softly.

Later that same night, Shaun sat on his bed like normal, this time reading a chapter about pancreatitis. He heard a knock fall against his open door. Dr. Glassman entered, carrying two mugs full of hot chocolate. He held one out to Shaun, who cautiously took it but reminded him, "No eating or drinking in the bedroom," Dr. Glassman gave a small smile. "We can break the rules every now and again." he assured. He reached over and closed Shaun's book for him as he seated himself on the bed. Shaun took a sip of his hot chocolate even though his hear was racing. This wasn't the usual bedtime routine. Dr. Glassman gave him a gentle smile. Sometimes when he looked into those rainstorm-colored eyes, he saw the tiny, shivering boy wearing clothes that hung off of him, clutching a rabbit close to his chest. Was he doing the right thing? Shaun was still so mentally young. An intellectual genius, but a child inside. "Shaun I want to talk to you about…" he began. Tears formed in Shaun's eyes, which he tried to blink away. "I want to talk to you about the near future." Dr. Glassman continued.


	12. Questions

_Hi. Sorry to have taken so long to write again. I will admit, after I watched last week's episode, I was a little bit thrown off when I realized that my idea for this story didn't quite align with what the actual writers of the Good Doctor had planned. Haha. However, I thank you for your encouragement and for your support. I will always keep writing. These ideas are important to me and I'm glad to see that they are to you as well._

* * *

Shaun crossed his arms over his chest, furrowing his brow and further avoiding any conversation with Dr. Glassman. So far, this was proving to be a very quiet car ride. It had been several months since they'd had the conversation about Dr. Glassman's opportunity to work with St. Bonaventure in San Jose. Logistics had been worked out. Time went on. Currently, it was stabilized at him driving to San Jose once a week, staying for three days and working there, and then returning home to Casper. It was a lot of driving. A lot. However Dr. Glassman mapped out a route that would take him only a day of travel, and besides, it was worth it to not have Shaun be alone for weeks at a time. In reality, this new work situation had only been inaction for about three weeks so far. Dr. Glassman told St. Bonaventure that he was still a guardian to a child—he wanted to balance work and home life to begin with so a proper adjustment could be made. Eventually, the plan was to eventually let Shaun become more independent and comfortable living alone. That way, Dr. Glassman could maybe stay in San Jose for a week or two at a time—he could get a place there and not have to worry about traveling. But clearly, they had a long way to go before Shaun was going to come around and accept this new lifestyle. Change was hard.

Shaun picked at the metal button thing that was on his jacket sleeve. This was stupid. This was so stupid. He wasn't a baby anymore—he was a college student. A college student taking advanced courses already in his first semester. Someone who could take care of himself and understand how to meet his own basic needs. Dr. Glassman was babying him. Treating him like a baby. Frustrated in his thoughts, Shaun let out a low sigh. "Breathe like that one more time at me, Shaun." Dr. Glassman warned crossly. He was aware that Shaun was upset with him. He knew why. He thought the boy was being completely unreasonable in his anger, but he was aware it was present. Shaun picked harder at the irritating metal thing on the sleeve of his jacket. "It's not fair." he stated.

"I don't care if you think it's fair or not." Dr. Glassman replied flatly.

"I don't need…I don't _need_ …this."

"Well apparently you do, Shaun. Because I don't know what else to do, and you aren't talking to me about it, so I'm forced to find someone that you will talk to."

"I'm…n-not going to talk to Dr. Steiner. She can't make me. I am not a child."

"No, you're her patient."

"She's a pediatrician. I am not a baby. I'm in college."

"She's your doctor, she's known you for a while now, and she sees kids your age up until they're twenty, Shaun. Don't start this again."

"She's a doctor for babies. I am not a baby. I'm in college."

"Shaun, stop it. We wouldn't be going through this if you would just talk to me."

"I-I don't need to talk to anyone—"

"Well that's your own fault!" Dr. Glassman raised his voice, causing Shaun to flinch and clap his hands over his ears.

Realizing that getting frustrated with the boy wasn't going to do any good, Dr Glassman let out a slow breath to calm himself. "I'm sorry I yelled." he quietly apologized as Shaun took his hands away from his head cautiously. "I'm just…Shaun…I don't know what else to do for you. You aren't talking to me. How am I supposed to know how to help you?" Shaun went back to hugging himself and looking out his window. "I don't need help." he murmured. Dr. Glassman bit his lip and fought tears.

When they arrived at the hospital, it took another argument just to get Shaun out of the car and through the parking garage to the main entrance. Dr. Steiner was going to meet with the boy in her private office instead of in a regular exam room because she suggested it might make him more comfortable and feel less like he was 'on-trial'. Dr. Glassman was to either wait outside or attend to other business. Shaun was easily distracted as they made their way through the hospital, as all of the noise and hustle and bustle of people in a color spectrum of scrubs ran here and there and fought for his attention. Dr. Glassman guided him with a hand on his shoulder to the door on the quieter floor that housed his pediatrician's office space. After only a knock, she opened the door and welcomed the pair inside warmly.

Shaun couldn't deny. He liked this doctor. She was nice. Straightforward. No guessing. She explained things as they were and she wasn't hard to read. He hoped that she'd possibly set Dr. Glassman straight and tell him that Shaun didn't need to talk to anyone. Dr. Steiner seated herself behind her desk after offering the pair their own chairs. "So," she said, offering a kind smile. "I'd like to start by talking to both of you, and then I'm going to ask you to leave, Aaron, so that Shaun and I can talk one-on-one. Alright? And what brings us all together here today?" Shaun crossed his arms again and gave Dr. Glassman a side glance. "Well," the man began with a sigh. "I'm a little concerned about how Shaun is taking to all the new…adjustments in his life. He's been through a lot of changes. It isn't supposed to be easy. But we've hit a…a barrier in how he's communicating with me. He's not helping me understand at all." Dr. Steiner nodded, glancing at Shaun to gauge his reaction. "I'm not a baby." Shaun muttered.

"You're not." Dr. Glassman went on. "And that's why I need you to act like the adult I know you are and tell me what's going on with you lately."

"Nothing."

"It isn't nothing, Shaun, if the neighbors are calling the police at three in the morning because they hear screaming coming from our house when you're alone. Do you know what that's like? To be hundreds of miles away from home and getting a phone call from the police about someone you left behind there? Saying they're concerned for that person's safety? Do you even know—"

Dr. Steiner put her hands up to call the conversation to order. "Ok," she said slowly. "Aaron, I think Shaun and I are going to take it from here, if you don't mind." Dr. Glassman let out a breath. He hadn't meant to get so worked up. But it felt like all that was happening lately was that he and his boy were fighting. He stood up, gave his colleague a polite nod, and gently tussled Shaun's hair before stepping out of the office and closing the door.

Shaun tried sitting up a little straighter in his chair. He was hopeful that his doctor would next tell him that he was fine, clean bill of health, and that Dr. Glassman was wrong to treat him like such a child. She stayed quiet for a bit before beginning their conversation. "Are you tired?" she asked. Shaun shook his head. "Well I can't imagine the nightmares are getting you much restful sleep." How did she know? Shaun furrowed his brow again, suddenly becoming a bit more rigid. How much _did_ she know? "What sort of classes are you taking at school?" she went on.

"Anatomy, physiology, organic chemistry, virology, and statistics." Shaun stated.

"…That's a lot for your first semester. You're under a lot of stress."

"I have three A's and two B's."

"Good. You must study hard. But that isn't what I want to talk about. I…want to talk about overload. It's what happens to your brain becomes overwhelmed with the massive amounts of information you're trying to cram into it, and then it gets thrown overboard when your limbic system starts shocking it with stress—stress that comes along with change. Do you know where I'm going with this?"

"Yes."

"I figured. …Tell me about why the police came to your house at three in the morning."

"I…was just having a bad dream. My neighbors heard. They overreacted and thought I was being murdered. So they called the police. The police called Dr. Glassman because they had to break into our house."

"So you must've been screaming pretty loud, then."

"…They overreacted."

"No, Shaun. Your brain overreacted. Listen, you've got an amazing gift. An incredible mind. But right now you're completely stressed out. You're dealing with a lot. You're trying to force your brain to study and hold in more information than possible because you want it to shut out what you're actually feeling in an attempt to block processing. That's not good. …What did you dream about?"

"…Steve."

"That's not it." Dr. Steiner's sharp eyes closely watched Shaun's expression.

"S-Steve…and…and daddy."

"There we go. Tell me about what you saw."

"I-I went home carrying Steve's body. And…mom was crying, and daddy was angry, and he took Steve's body away from me and threw it against the wall and then he was yelling at me in my ears and telling me that I killed Steve and that it was my fault he was dead and that I did the wrong thing by not calling 911 and calling Dr. Glassman and then he started hitting me and hitting me and hitting me and I was crying and he told me I was going to hell and then he tried to throw me into the fireplace—" Shaun stopped. Tears robbed him of his ability to explain more. Dr. Steiner patiently folded her hands and offered a comforting nod.

"You can't hold in that guilt, Shaun." she softly cooed.

"I woke up sweating. The police were in the house. I got more scared. I tried to hide under the covers."

"I know. That's ok. They know what to do when they meet someone like you. It's ok that that's how you reacted. You didn't do anything wrong.

"…They called Dr. Glassman. Dr. Glassman had to leave San Jose early to come home. He wouldn't listen when I said I was ok."

"Did you tell him about your dream?"

"N-No, only babies have bad dreams."

"That's so not true, Shaun."

"I didn't tell him."

Dr. Steiner reached her hand out and extended it on her desk. It took a while for Shaun to accept that all she wanted to do was give him some comfort while she spoke to him. He put his fingertips on her palm cautiously. "Shaun I need for you to talk to Dr. Glassman about all of these things." she said. "You're overloaded. That's fine. It happens to the best of us. You're a stressed out teen that just has a little more trouble getting used to things than others. It's ok. Nothing wrong with it. But you need to understand that while you're feeling this way, Dr. Glassman is too. …How much do you know about…Dr. Glassman's life before you met him?"

"I know he is divorced. He says he divorced for unspeakable circumstances."

"…I really want for the two of you to have a conversation. You need to tell him how you're feeling. What you're going through. What the thoughts in your head are saying, all of the ways things are rushing around in your mind. Tell him. Please, for his sake. Be open with him."

Shaun wasn't sure why, but he felt like there was a reason why suddenly Dr. Steiner appeared to have tears in her eyes, and why she looked away from him and collected herself. He thought for a moment too. Was there something he was missing? The air felt weird. Something made it cold and uncomfortable. It wasn't often that he'd ever seen his pediatrician—the happy, smiley, upbeat, confident young doctor—go so solemn and serious. His heart felt hollow. There was a reason. There had to be a reason.

That night, Shaun sat at the dinner table with Dr. Glassman, picking nervously at the chicken on his plate with his fork. He couldn't get the image out of his head of the way Dr. Steiner had shifted her mood when she was encouraging him to talk to his guardian. _Be open._ Dr. Glassman was sitting across from him, also silently eating and checking every now and then to make sure Shaun was making progress in clearing his plate. "Dr. Steiner was weird today." he stated flatly. Dr. Glassman raised his eyes, a bit confused by Shaun's sudden comment about how the meeting went. "Did something happen?" he asked. Shaun fell quiet again. Dr. Glassman rolled his eyes and sighed. Apparently, whatever they talked about didn't sink in, because Shaun was right back to not talking to him—

"What don't I know about you?" Shaun's innocent, stormy eyes were fixed on the man in front of him when he looked up. Dr. Glassman froze. What in the hell?

"What do you mean?"

"Dr. Steiner asked me, how much do you know about Dr. Glassman's life before you met him. I said you were divorced for unspeakable circumstances."

"Thanks, Shaun."

"She almost cried. That's not normal. It's not a normal limbic response to a verbal stimulation that is very simple. She processed it differently. Something was wrong. What don't I know about you?"

"She almost cried?...Well…um yes, I'm divorced for unspeakable circumstances. But…I don't like to talk about them."

"How can I be honest with you if you aren't honest with me?"

"…Shaun…I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. Things I have to live with every day. You haven't nearly made any of the mistakes I have. And you absolutely wouldn't understand if I tried to explain to you the kind of guilt that I'm forced to carry because of that."

"…I carry guilt…because…I killed Steve."

"You had nothing to do with that. It was an accident. I've told you a million times. You didn't kill someone. An innocent person didn't die because of your negligence—because you weren't there for them when you should've been. And that's why I can't explain to you what I've felt like every day since I killed Maddie!"

Shaun froze. Dr. Glassman put his head in his hand across the table, shielding his eyes though very obviously crying. Now what? Now what should Shaun do? Inside, he panicked. He wasn't expecting this. "M-Maddie?" he asked quietly. Dr. Glassman drew in a big breath. "My Maddie. The light of my life. My god, I loved her so much. And it's all my fault. I let her grow up too fast. I wasn't…I wasn't _there_ for her when she needed someone to turn to with a decision. She wouldn't…she wouldn't talk to me. As much as I tried, she distanced herself and I'm to blame for that because she felt like I didn't want her around. She thought I was too busy for her. She made…terrible choices. I couldn't save her. Eventually she became a victim of her own self. She turned to drugs. My Maddie, my little girl. She…she was out of control. I wanted to save her. I wanted to save my princess that I knew was still deep down in that empty shell of a person. But she wouldn't let me. She pulled away from me. I got frustrated, she got frustrated, and I…I threw her out. I shouldn't have. Oh my god, I wish I could turn back time. I got a phone call from police at three in the morning telling me…telling me that she was dead."

Shaun hadn't ever seen Dr. Glassman cry before. And he never wanted to again. All he could do was sit there, confused and scared and sad, while the man who was always so strong cried to him helplessly. "Shaun…" Dr. Glassman sobbed. "I am _terrified_ that I will lose you the same way. By not being there for you. Please…oh god please don't shut me out. Please tell me how I can help you. _Please_ don't make me guess, because as you can see…I've guessed wrong." Shaun stayed quiet for a long time. He had so many things rumbling around in his head—so much pain and longing. "D-Did Dr. Steiner know Maddie?" he asked softly. It was beginning to come together. Dr. Glassman rubbed his face with his napkin and sighed. "She knew a girl named Jessica, who was Maddie's best friend. Dr. Steiner and Jessica were friends. She was in high school the same time they found out that their classmate died…" So that was it. Dr. Steiner knew Dr. Glassman's pain because she was in the same school that Maddie was when she died. She knew that Dr. Glassman was worried about Shaun because Shaun had stopped communicating with him out of anger due to his disappearance from his daily life. A cold, cold feeling washed over him. He felt so…guilty.

Shaun reached across the table and opened his hand like he'd seen his pediatrician do earlier. Dr. Glassman looked at it, puzzled. Shaun avoided eye contact to hide the fact that he was tearing up too. How could all this time have passed and he never knew that Dr. Glassman was carrying the same guilt and crushing loss that he'd been as well? "It wasn't your fault," he repeated. He'd been told that a hundred times by so many different people who cared for him. "I'm…I am sorry. I need to be open with you." Dr. Glassman gave him a sad smile with reddened eyes. He reached out and laid his palm on top of the boy's. Shaun flinched a little, but worked hard at maintaining the contact. "But I don't like questions." he stated. "Questions are hard to answer. Questions make me nervous." Dr. Glassman slowly nodded. This was it. The breakthrough he'd been waiting for. "Ok," he whispered. "Ok, I'll ease up on the questions from here on out."

"And my brain is overloaded. I need…I need time to process the big changes."

"Of course…How can I—I mean…I'll be here to help."

"…I'm lonely when you're gone. I need…I'm lonely."

Dr. Glassman thought hard but quickly. Shaun definitely wouldn't like a therapist, or a friend from school coming over when he was alone at home. But what would he like? Suddenly, an idea burst into Dr. Glassman's brain. "I bet if you put a can of food out every day for that feral gray cat that walks around here, he'd come visit you and at least be some company for a bit. You could do that." he suggested. Shaun always wanted a pet. Dr. Glassman didn't. This might be a good compromise and a solution to Shaun's lonesomeness. Shaun smiled. "Ok," he said. Dr. Glassman patted the boy's hand gently, more tears coming to his eyes. Thank god he was talking to him again. "That cat stays outside though." he reminded. Shaun nodded. The man gave him another sad smile. "Thanks for being honest with me." he whispered. Shaun returned the smile. "Thank you for listening to me."


	13. Prove it

_Sorry it's been a while-this semester is quite hard on me especially as it's wrapping up. I wanted to get this chapter out to you for so long. My head has been screaming at me to get it done. I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think._

* * *

Shaun tapped his foot anxiously. His biochemistry chemistry teacher would _not stop going on and on_ in lecture. He wanted this lesson to end so that the exams they recently took would be passed back to them, and he could see his score. Things hadn't necessarily gotten easier lately with the big change of living on his own 75% of the time. But he was adjusting, and that was the best he could do on a daily basis. Take it one step at a time. However, because change was so difficult, Shaun had actually been experiencing a dip in some of his most recent test scores. Nothing dramatic—but as a student who usually achieved A's with the occasional B, he had gotten a string of C's on his exams across the board. He didn't want to tell Dr. Glassman. That would worry him. Make him look like a failure. Make him feel bad for going out and getting a better job.

The truth was, Shaun was nervous about being alone sometimes still. He would actually feel a little afraid at night when he was laying in bed, alone in the house, and he'd hear an abnormal noise or see something out of the corner of his eye. Being so afraid made it difficult to catch sleep. And because of this, Shaun spent a lot of nights reading from Dr. Glassman's medical library until 5 and 6 in the morning just to give his racing mind something else to focus on. He was exhausted. But he didn't want to admit that. It would be so embarrassing! Something poked his left shoulder—his head snapped over to find the source of the unexpected touch, and his table-mate, a girl he never really spoke to at all, had tapped his shoulder with a pencil. "I hate to ask you this," she whispered. "But can you please stop bouncing your foot for god's sakes? You're shaking the whole table and I can't concentrate." Shaun immediately became aware of the self-stimulation he was participating in. He didn't say anything, but planted his heel firmly on the ground to keep from moving it any more. How long had he been doing that? Maybe he'd been doing it since the beginning of the lecture. Or…what if he'd been doing it all semester and the girl got so fed up she brought it to his attention now…

The teacher of the class approached a stack of papers that rested on the front table. "I've got your exams graded," he announced. Yes, finally. The moment Shaun had been waiting for. He'd studied so hard and really pushed his brain to remember everything he could for this exam in particular. He was desperate to break his C streak. "Highest score was a 98, lowest was a 24." the professor explained, earning some groans from the class. Shaun looked around. Why was everyone upset? That was a pretty wide range—there was a good chance that, with the exception of a few outliers, everyone performed well. Anxiously he watched as the teacher wandered the classroom, handing back exams as he approached the tables. The girl beside him sighed and rolled her eyes. "Here we go again," she muttered. What was her problem? Shaun glanced down and it dawned on him. It was his foot again. He hadn't realized.

The professor approached their row, handing the girl back her exam first. "Well done," he said. "Highest true score." She smiled proudly and opened the front page to see her glistening grade. Shaun's heart pounded. The professor handed him his test book. "See me after class." he stated shortly. Oh, that did not sound good. With twitching fingers, he pulled back the front page to see what the damage was.

His heart stopped.

Why did the professor say that the girl next to him got the highest score?

In Shaun's hand was the exam grade of a 98%.

The girl next to him glanced over out of curiosity and suddenly her brow furrowed too. Her stare was beginning to get uncomfortable, so Shaun briefly met her gaze. Puzzled, she pushed her test book a little closer to him on the table and pointed discreetly at her grade. An 86%. Now this was interesting—did the professor just misspeak? Wait no, he said he needed to talk to Shaun after class. That was pretty direct. Nervously, Shaun palpated his pocket to feel the plastic scalpel toy he needed to reassure him.

As soon as all of the exams were distributed, the students began filing out of the lecture hall. Shaun made his way slowly up to the teacher, who was beginning to pack up his computer. He rubbed his hands together nervously. How would one start a conversation that they were demanded to partake in? As his mind raced to figure it out, the teacher interrupted his thoughts. "How'd you go from getting a 78 to a 98?" he flat out said. Shaun was a little surprised—this was the question? This was easy! "I…s-studied." he answered honestly. The teacher looked at him, almost confrontationally. "You mean to tell me you went from getting a C on the last exam, to not even finishing the chapter's homework, to all of a sudden pulling a near perfect score out of thin air?" he incredulously interrogated. Shaun could feel himself shaking. No, it wasn't as simple as that. Dr. Glassman came home fifteen days ago to spend the weekend in Casper. He'd helped Shaun tidy up around the house and make it "neater", giving him more room for thinking space while he did his studies. He'd also washed all of Shaun's sheets and bedding, and even the stuffed bunny Shaun liked to sleep with. It made everything soft. Fresh. With so much cleanness, Shaun actually found it easier to focus. It calmed down the jumpiness in his brain. Not to mention, when Dr. Glassman stayed the weekend, they went to their little breakfast place and had pancakes on Saturday just like usual. The routine felt good. It powered Shaun through the next two weeks and made it easier for him to collect himself and study and understand. But how to explain this to a teacher who obviously wasn't looking for that complex of an answer? "I-I studied hard." he summarized. Instant frustration inside. That wasn't how he wanted it to come out. Explain to the professor that it's been hard to adjust to living alone—that things get better with routines and familiarity! But his mouth just wouldn't form the sentence. The man shook his head. "You want my honest opinion?" he asked. No. But Shaun had a feeling he was going to get it anyway. "I think there may have been something sneaky going on here."

"…Y-You…think I cheated because I got a good score?"

"I think you either had a notecard or you wrote something on the inside of your calculator cover or something."

"I didn't cheat,"

"Your unusually high test score on a pretty difficult exam says you did."

"…I didn't."

"Don't get defensive. If you really want to prove to me that you didn't cheat, you'll retake a different version of this exam and we'll see how well you do with that one, and I want you to do it in my office so that I can make sure you don't cheat."

Shaun felt tears sting his eyes. Why? He didn't cheat—he never did anything academically dishonest. Why was his teacher going to make him take another exam just to prove his innocence? He couldn't find words to respond to his teacher. "You know my office hours," the man went on shortly. "Come by on Tuesday and we'll get it done." Shaun squeezed the plastic scalpel in his hands, trying not to let tears fall. "I…am not academically dishonest." he choked out. The professor picked up his bag as he prepared to leave the room. "Good. Prove it."

Shaun went to work that night and studied even more in between caring for the elderly patients. And when he made his way home, he stayed up late to study harder. This was not the time to make any mistakes. Dr. Glassman texted him that night—Shaun was not a fan of talking over the phone. Something about it just bothered him and made his ears hurt. Plus it was far easier to write everything out than to verbally explain it. When he told Dr. Glassman that he was retaking an exam to prove that he hadn't cheated though, he did receive a phone call immediately. He picked up and immediately Dr. Glassman's voice started talking. "Who in the hell does this teacher think he is?!" he cried out. Shaun didn't know what to say. "A teacher has no right to force a student to take an entire exam over again just because they suspect cheating—and at this point in the semester, he should know that you're brilliant and you can do so much with that brain of yours! Shaun do you want me to call the chemistry department and talk to someone about his behavior? This is completely unreasonable!"

"N-No. I need to prove I did not cheat."

"Shaun you don't. You're allowed to do far better than everyone else. I don't care if your score was 13% higher than everyone else's—you earned it. You worked your ass off and you earned it."

"I studied hard."

"Yes you did! You don't deserve to have to prove yourself to him. You had a fair chance like everyone else and you will be treated like everyone else. My god, I'm just—I'm infuriated right now."

"I can handle it."

"Shaun if I were you, I would throw that exam right back at him when he handed it to me. People like that don't get to judge you based on their assumption. You throw it right back."

"I-I need to be polite."

"Forget about the damn politeness of things! Was he polite to you today? No. He wasn't. He shouldn't get any fairness from you."

"Be the bigger person."

"You've got a bigger brain than he ever will and that counts for more."

Dr. Glassman sighed into the phone. Shaun was still trying to hold back tears. He never, ever wanted to be accused of cheating again. Was picturing your entire page of notes in your mind when taking the test cheating? "I-I…" he began quietly. "I can see…the pages of the book." Dr. Glassman didn't understand, and the choking feeling of near tears prevented Shaun from elaborating. The moment he big goodbye to Dr. Glassman, he put his head into his hands and sobbed. How was he ever going to get to be a doctor if all of his teachers were going to suspect he was a cheater?

It was another sleepless night. Very restless. A mix of angry emotions and sad emotions with a lot of worry overshadowing all of it. Shaun hugged his stuffed rabbit close to him as he lay in bed. He needed to explain. He needed to tell his teacher how he was able to perform better suddenly. He needed it to come out of his brain and through his mouth. But how? The teacher made him so nervous. He was strict, tough. Not receptive. This wasn't going to be easy.

Shaun went to the office hours on Tuesday and knocked on the professor's door. "Shaun," the man said upon answering it, gesturing for him to enter. He pointed at a small table next to his desk. "Here's your seat, here's a school-property calculator, and here's the new exam." He extended a yellow test booklet out to Shaun. There was something that was making Shaun feel so frustrated inside. Perhaps it was that ugly yellow. Perhaps he was absolutely exhausted. Perhaps it was the fact that his intelligence was being questioned, like Dr. Glassman had said. Be strong, be the bigger person. Shaun handed the exam back to the professor. "No thank you," he said calmly. Surprised, the teacher raised his eyebrows. "You're going to refuse?" he asked.

"I do not have to justify my intelligence."

"Wow, quite the attitude."

"No one else in the class has to retake this exam?"

"…That's right."

"What about the person who scored a 24%? Does he or she have to prove to you that they are not stupid?"

"No,"

"So why should I have to prove to you that I am smart?"

"…It's…it's…not…"

Shaun took a step back and looked up into the right corner of the room. "When I want to remember something, I can picture the page in the textbook. I see it. I can reread every word in my mind. I don't know why. But I do it. It helps me on exams."

"…Sounds like a photographic memory."

"I have autism. Dr. Glassman says it's common for autistic people to have photographic memories. So I am not an outlier. I am normal within my range and concentration."

"…I didn't know about all that."

"Now you know. And now you won't make me retake any more exams."

Shaun glanced down at his watch. He had to get going—he'd planned to go home and try to sleep before he went to work again. He offered his professor a wave as a parting sentiment, then turned around and walked out of the office. It didn't register in the moment for him, but he'd found his gift. And he'd communicated it so effectively. He wasn't any different than the students in his class—he had been given such talents for a reason, and if those talents gave him an affinity for learning, than it was lucky for him. Shaun laid in his bed at home and let out a sigh of relief. Be strong, he reminded himself. This isn't made out to be easy.


	14. Infection

Shaun's fingers twisted nervously in his lap. He tried to pace his breathing, but there was just too much to look at. A silver flash as the light caught someone's watch, a cup full of pens that had fake flowers taped to them, white walls, gray chairs—not to mention the smell of rubbing alcohol and the sound of telephones ringing and turning pages and chattering staff wearing all varieties of colors—

He couldn't do this.

What was he thinking? There was too much to get distracted by in a hospital. But what kind of doctor would Shaun be if he didn't have any hospital experience? How could he learn hands-on care? "Shaun Murphy?" a clear voice rang out. Shaun glanced up and noticed a brown-haired nurse wearing blue scrubs motioning for him to follow her. He rose from his chair, nervously keeping his hands close to his chest. Just like Mrs. Field had told him. No one can tell you're nervous if you look like you're keeping calm. Shaun followed the nurse into a hallway lined with several offices. They came to an open door. She gestured for him to enter. "This is Miss Nelson, the HR manager you spoke to on the phone." Shaun walked into the room and met eyes with a middle-aged woman who had too much hairspray in her hair and a pink blazer with a black dress. She outstretched her hand politely. "Nice to meet you, Shaun." she greeted. Shaun pretended he didn't see the invitation for a handshake and instead took a seat in front of the desk of Miss Nelson. The nurse turned away and closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Miss Nelson smiled and folded her hands. "So what kind of patient-care experience are you looking for?" she asked.

…

Dr. Glassman slid his second arm into his coat sleeve as he stepped out of the airplane gateway. Ah, Casper. Back to the frigid temperatures that began in about September and didn't leave until June at the earliest. He was finding that it was nice to just come back to visit every now and then as opposed to live full-time in what he referred to as "the American tundra". Before grabbing the handle on his suitcase, he checked his phone one more time. Hm. Still no text from Shaun. Did he remember that tonight was the night of Dr. Glassman's arrival? Shaking his head, he started out towards his terminal to catch the cab he was going to take home from the airport, eager to see Shaun after so long but also a little nervous about what he'd find at home.

He knew that Shaun had been studying very hard and continuing on in taking advanced courses. Shaun didn't accept anything less than perfect grades. Dr. Glassman knew he was probably very stressed, and because of that, he more than likely was not sleeping or eating well. Balancing this work-life-school sort of chaos wasn't easy for anyone—and he didn't expect it to be any better for Shaun. It had been three months since he'd last visited Shaun in Casper—just before this semester had started. He called him, texted him daily, sent a little extra money with encouragement for Shaun to "treat himself" for working so hard. But it wasn't the same as spending time with him. He wanted to be there—he needed to be there for him. He certainly didn't want to carry any more guilt related to his absence in an important young person's life…

By the time Dr. Glassman caught his cab, took the drive home, and approached the front porch, it was nearing 11pm. The cozy little home still looked as if it was frozen in time—also ice, but that was normal for December. Shaun did have the porch light on. A soft warm glow illuminated the windows through the curtains. Dr. Glassman felt himself smiling. He was proud of his boy—he was doing a great job living on his own, managing a place to live. He turned the key in the lock. Upon entering the house, Dr. Glassman was greeted by an acidic smell—much like isopropyl alcohol or witch hazel. No one came to greet him. "Shaun?" he asked aloud. The house was so still, so quiet. Taking off his scarf, he stepped into the living room; instantly it felt like his heart melted in his chest. Shaun was half-slumped on the sofa, a big textbook in his lap, five more open around him and on the coffee table, eyes closed, breathing softly. Dr. Glassman smiled sadly. Shaun did this often—he'd go days and nights with barely any sleep and then all at once it would catch up to him and he would just pass out cold. Setting his hat down on the table and removing his coat, Dr. Glassman glanced at the type of text Shaun had been last studying. _Mycobacterium tuberculosis Vectors_ was the heading he'd highlighted. How could he be comfortable with his neck hanging like that?

Dr. Glassman gently took the heavy textbook off of Shaun's lap and pushed his papers and notebooks to the side. He slipped the calculator out of his limp hand and set it on the table. Dr. Glassman knew both his limits and Shaun's—gone were the days where he could just pick the boy up and carry him to bed. Now Shaun probably wouldn't like that, and neither would that pain in Dr. Glassman's back that reared its head every now and again. So he gently tapped Shaun's hand, causing him to stir and give a little shiver. Wordlessly but with that warm smile, he encouraged the boy to stand up, put an arm around him, and begin to sleepily walk towards his bedroom. Shaun let out a little sigh. "Dr. Glassman…" he murmured in a broken voice. The man rubbed his hand on his shoulder. "I'm happy to see you too." he replied.

Suddenly he glanced down and realized that Shaun wasn't dressed in pajamas—he was instead wearing dark green scrubs. Scrubs? Why on earth did he have scrubs on? "Where'd you get these?" he asked softly, pulling back the blankets on the neatly made bed. Shaun rubbed his eye. "At work." he answered.

"The old folks' home lets you wear scrubs now? I thought you wore a uniform."

"Other work."

"You have another job?"

"I work at the hospital in triage. I help the nurses take vitals."

"…When did you start this?"

A yawn preceeded Shaun's answer. "Eighteen days ago."

"And you just applied on your own and went to an interview and got hired?"

"Yes."

Dr. Glassman smiled again. Wow, Shaun was doing excellent! He was so proud he'd gone out and sought more healthcare experience all on his own. He was really dedicated! Shaun collapsed into his bed and immediately closed his eyes again. Apparently he did not want to even change into pajamas, he was so tired. Dr. Glassman tucked the blanket up close to the boy and gave his hair a gentle rumple. He sat down on the bed. "I'm proud of you." he whispered. Shaun gave a small smile. After a moment of still silence, Dr. Glassman quietly rose to let the boy sleep in peace. But immediately, he felt a hand catch his sleeve. "S-Stay," Shaun's small voice murmured. Dr. Glassman was puzzled—he really wanted him to keep sitting on his bed? He sat back and leaned against the headboard, putting a pillow behind his back for support. Shaun settled a little closer to him. A few seconds passed of Dr. Glassman wondering if this was appropriate and fearing that perhaps Shaun would feel uncomfortable, but his thoughts were dispelled when the boy said, "Thank you…for being proud of me."

Dr. Glassman bit his lip and smiled again. This was why he'd come home. Not just to check on Shaun and make sure he was doing everything right—he was still this boy's caregiver. He needed to be there for him. "You couldn't make me un-proud." he replied with a chuckle. A bit of time went on before Dr. Glassman decided to really make Shaun's day. "I brought you and Christmas present," he told him, "and a Hanukkah gift too." Shaun gave a delighted little sigh. "I steam-sterilized the wood floor and bleached the bathroom kitchen countertops and refrigerator so you wouldn't carry any infections into the house you may have picked up on the plane ride." he proudly reported.

"Is that why this place smelled like an operating room as soon as I walked in?"

"Yes. …I used a strong base on the floor and a strong acid on the countertops to neutralize any bacteria."

"Good thinking."

Dr. Glassman chuckled again. He was glad to be home. His new job at San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital was great and exciting and fulfilling—however there were things about Casper that he missed. Especially everything he had at home—

Something jumped onto his leg and crawled up his hip.

A furry tail flashed across his face. "What…the hell is that." he asked flatly. Shaun rolled onto his side and put his arm out. "Noodle." he answered. Dr. Glassman looked down. A long-haired brown cat was curling up right between them. "Shaun," he said exasperatedly. "I told you, you can feed the stray cat outside, but it was to _never_ come in the house. Was I clear? Do you remember that?"

"Yes."

"So why the hell is there a cat currently shoving its ass in my face?"

"It was cold outside on night and Noodle didn't have anywhere to go. Noodle gets taken care of by Miss Elizabeth next door but she'd gone to bed and it was late so I let Noodle come inside so he wouldn't freeze."

"Shaun I can't believe you sterilized and cleaned and made this place spotless and yet you let a cat run around here."

"He goes outside all day. I clean in the day. There's always a low risk of infection."

Dr. Glassman put a hand to his forehead and sighed. Shaun was happy. He really was. He had his jobs, his schoolwork, a neat place to live, and a new little friend. He couldn't really be that upset with him, right? He let out another sigh and tussled Shaun's hair again. "You're out of your mind," he said with a chuckle. Shaun snuggled in. "I missed you too." he said softly.


	15. Innocent

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

A steady pulsating soundwave of pitch flowed from the oxygen saturation measurement tool kept Shaun focused on his task at hand—take the vitals of a sleeping male patient in the bed of room 117. 95% O2 saturation. That was a bit low. A low pulse rate too—only 54 beats per minute. Shaun tried to envision what this man's electrocardiogram might look like—probably a low amplitude with this sort of cardiac output. He needed an ECG. He needed to have an ECG done. "Pulse rate?" Shaun counted another weak rise and fall of the chest. With a low amplitude, his sinoatrial node was probably experiencing a low cardiac voltage. "Shaun, pulse rate?" He blinked. His nursing partner was standing at the counter, trying to enter the vitals count into her computer. He fumbled for words. "F-Fifty four beats per minute." he replied mechanically. Giving him a side-eye, she typed the response and then gathered her computer and supplies into her arms. "Not looking good," she sighed.

"He should have an ECG monitor."

"He doesn't need one with such a low pulse count—they can see it up there on the screen."

"If he had one, they could compare the Q peaks over a ten-minute interval to determine if the sinoatrial node is efficiently acting as a pacemaker—"

"It isn't up to us, Shaun. We're just the help."

Shaun looked back down at the patient in silence. His partner, Emmie, worked a lot and seemed to always be tired and stressed. She wasn't much older than him, only recently twenty-two, but she had quite a bit on her plate at all times and was constantly picking up shifts. They were paired up on almost all assignments because she'd been at the hospital since she was nineteen and knew the ropes. Shaun adjusted the bed to be a little more upright—with the head of the bed raised, there was less pressure on the thoracic cavity, allowing for better lung expansion— "Come on, let's go give report to the RN." Emmie said. Obediently, Shaun followed her out of the room.

When they met with Casey, the nurse in charge, Emmie took over the report of the patient. "Thirty-four year old male, presented to the ER by ambulance after collapse at work induced by a coughing fit. Currently weakened pulse rate, low respiratory count, and SPO2 of 95%. Sleeping but on emergency painkillers. EMTs thought maybe it was a heart attack but no sign of any vascular clots or pulmonary edema." she said, looking over her notes. Shaun chimed in. "He needs an ECG and an intranasal oxygen supply."

"Shaun," Emmie quietly warned.

"We need to check the amplitude of the QR and S complex in his heart—"

"Shaun, please."

"And a respirator will bring up the oxygen saturation of his blood and allow for better cellular exchange of gases—"

"Ok, thank you very much, guys." Casey said, signaling the end of the conversation. She turned and began walking away into the patient's room. Emmie shot Shaun a reprimanding look.

Here on a Sunday night, there wasn't too much happening in the triage department. This was usually Shaun's night to work evenings. 4pm to midnight. Not a bad shift. And he didn't have courses on Mondays so he was able to sleep in. When things were slow like this, the nurses in charge would sometimes assign Shaun and Emmie to help them with rounding on a patient or two. This was exciting and enjoyable for the future medical student—even when he wasn't really technically allowed to make suggestions about treatment. This patient was particularly intriguing to Shaun. First off, he was young; almost too young to be having so many complications already. Secondly, this man had quite a medical history chart coming through the fax machine from his primary care doctor at the moment. There was just no way this was a simple asthmatic attack.

Shaun stood next to the fax machine, watching the papers print off one by one. Small flickers of information popped out at him as he scanned through them—unexplained rash, fever, abdominal pain—those three symptoms were constantly recurring in all of the past primary care visit notes. The moment the fax finished, Shaun grabbed all of the pages and brought them to the nurses' station. He grabbed a highlighter. Rash, fever, abdominal pain. Rash, fever, abdominal pain. Rash, fever, abdominal pain. Fatigue? Rash, fever, fatigue, weight loss. Weight loss, fatigue. Fever. Fever, rash, abdominal pain, fatigue. Dry cough. Cough. Cough. Fever. Rash, abdominal pain. Cough. All of the symptoms were either exactly the same or similar for visits dating back three years. It was weird—someone who had the same symptoms over and over again likely had disease that didn't respond to treatment. It was something to be noted, definitely. Shaun carried the papers over to the physician that was approaching the patient's room. "These are his past records." he stated. The doctor glanced at them. "Did they come highlighted like this from his PCP?" she asked. Shaun shook his head. "I highlighted the recurring symptoms for the past three years to bring it to your attention. I believe this is an opportunistic pathogen due to the lack of response to symptomatic treatment." The doctor nodded, curiously looking at Shaun. "Want to come with me for the initial exam?" she asked. An eager nod.

Shaun followed the physician into the room the moment the patient began to wake up. He stood in the corner and listened to the dialogue between doctor and patient—he began to wonder, could he do this? Could he initiate a physical examination someday? Could he prescribe an order, present his findings, select the right treatment for his future patients? Shaun was abruptly brought out of his thoughts when the curtain to the bed opened and Emmie stepped in, holding a piece of paper. "Dr. Marquette," she said quickly. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but the CBC blood test results are back from the lab, and we'd like for you to review them immediately." The physician, obviously annoyed that her encounter was interrupted, motioned for Shaun to follow her out of the room.

Dr. Marquette suddenly appeared grave. She read and reread the results multiple times. Turning to Shaun, she asked, "What was it you thought about this pathogen?" Shaun looked to his left. "It appears opportunistic and reoccurring." The physician gave it some more thought. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Full PPE when entering this room, restrict any room sharing. Alert me if anyone comes into contact with any bodily fluids." She walked back into the patient's room, Shaun quietly following even though he was unsure if it was necessary. She took a seat in front of the patient's bed and reached for his hand. "I need for you to be honest with me," she said. Shaun bit his lip. Wouldn't the patient always be honest if it was about their health? "Before you told me that you haven't had unprotected sex. But was there ever a time…maybe…you did? And was it…with another man?"

Now this was confusing. Shaun watched the patient's face immediately drop. "W-Why?" he whispered weakly. Dr. Marquette put her hand on top of his. Why did she do that? "I looked over the results of your blood tests. Based upon your previous symptoms, your state today, and the immunoglobulin count in your body…Roger, you have an advanced stage of HIV." Shaun gave a nod—he hadn't thought it could be an immunodeficiency. Though it made sense. An advanced form of HIV though would probably mean he had AIDS. Anti-retroviral therapy could help with the symptoms and length of—wait, the patient was crying. Dr. Marquette stroked his hand. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. Shaun wasn't really comfortable being around crying people. He never quite knew what to do, how to help. "T-That's…" the patient stammered. "That's why he did it…" Dr. Marquette said something, but Shaun didn't hear it—he was busy searching his brain for any and all information about retroviruses. There had to be something they could do for this patient. HIV couldn't have been that harsh of a diagnosis. Shaun was startled back into reality when he saw the doctor walking towards him and to the door of the room. She asked him to get a manual blood pressure on the man every 20 minutes or so to ensure accurate charting. Shaun put his stethoscope around his neck with a silent nod.

Carefully, quietly, he approached him. Roger was still crying and looking up at the ceiling. This was awkward. What could anyone say to a person who just had such crushing news delivered to him? Shaun quietly slipped the cuff onto the thin, frail arm he'd taken hold of. Roger took a raspy breath in. "That's why…" he whispered. Emmie turned from the counter she was standing at. "That's why what?" she gently asked. Roger reached his hand to her, which she accepted kindly. Shaun had to admit, she was a good nurse. "T-That's why Jack jumped…" the patient whispered. A silence passed. "Was Jack your boyfriend?" she responded. He nodded. "We were so happy together. S-So happy. Just…m-moved into an apartment, had a p-promising baby adoption file in the works, ready to g-get…engaged." Roger broke into more tears. Shaun straightened his arm again. It was hard to get a blood pressure reading on a wiggly person. Roger put a feeble hand to his sore forehead. "And then just for no reason one day…he jumped…jumped off the top of his work building. Never knew why. …God, he was such a good person. He had a…a r-real heart of gold. I was never with anyone after him. He was my s-soulmate." Shaun took the stethoscope out of his ears and released the pressure on the cuff. "Well he couldn't have been that good of a person. He gave you a deadly incurable retrovirus that quickly progressed to an aggressive stage." he reported. Emmie stepped firmly on his toe under the bed to cut him off. Roger rolled his eyes sadly. "He was only unfaithful…one time. And we worked through it. We really did. He was sorry, we went to counseling together, we really worked at our relationship."

"Did you know the person he was unfaithful with?" Emmie gently asked, adjusting his IV tubing.

"No. I mean at first I was obsessed with finding out who he was, what he looked like, what he had that I didn't. But I worked through letting it go."

"That person probably had HIV too and gave it to your cheater boyfriend, and then he gave it to you when you forgave him." Shaun stated. An elbow to the ribs this time was his punishment. Emmie pulled the sheet close to their thin patient. "We're going to treat your symptoms first," she said gently. "And we can figure out the rest later. But you need to get some sleep. You're dealing with a lot." Roger tried to give her an appreciative smile. She glanced up at Shaun and reminded him to chart the vitals finding on the report sheet for the other nurses that would go up on the patient's whiteboard. She stepped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Shaun curiously looked at Roger who was quickly trying to wipe up his face with a tissue. Shaun let a long silence pass—now without anyone there to facilitate conversation, he wasn't quite sure how to begin. He'd heard a lot of information all at once—he felt like he was given mountains of personal information on this one patient, and yet it was so hard to compartmentalize it. Roger seemed like a nice person. He seemed kind. Open. Loving. Why would someone step out on someone like that? Something Roger said struck Shaun; he wondered what the other man had that he didn't. It puzzled him. What really would make someone want to give up a good thing they have? Shaun stopped writing the heart rate down on his sheet of paper and looked up at Roger. "W-Why do you think he cheated on you?" he asked. Roger closed his eyes sadly. "I guess he…kind of wanted more than I had to offer."

"Like what?"

"…I mean, there was stuff I didn't want to…you know, _try_ in bed."

"That doesn't make sense. Bed is for sleeping. What's there to try different about that?"

"No…you know…like… _in_ bed."

"…Did you snore?"

"Sex. I mean he wanted to try new fantasies and I didn't. So he found someone that would."

Shaun understood now—he was talking about intercourse. Roger was crying again now. His fever had risen already even though he was on acetaminophen. Shaun went back to charting quietly. He wrote down that the patient was alert, oriented, and speaking normally… Something wouldn't get off his mind though. Roger put his head back against his pillow and sighed, clearly exhausted from so much activity. Shaun paused in his writing. A silence passed. "What's so great about it?" he asked quietly. Roger turned to him with a confused expression on his face. "About what?"

"S-S…intimacy."

Roger let out a weak chuckle. "You're a virgin, aren't you?" Shaun looked away uncomfortably.

"I-I don't understand why…people are willing to risk pregnancy, disease, even their own lives for it. It must be very amazing." he went on, looking at the IV lines to distract himself and avert the gaze of his patient.

"I guess…it's the risk of it all. The thrill. Being so close to someone that you care about, for them to explore every inch of you. It's…yeah, pretty amazing to be loved like that."

"…It causes people to make bad choices."

"Sometimes. But I guess most of the time you just never really…expect anything bad to come from something so wonderful."

A few moments passed of Roger trying to catch his breath again and Shaun twisting his pen in his fingers. Wordlessly, Shaun rose from his small chair and began to walk out of the room, taking his charting paper with him. "Wait," Roger said faintly. Shaun turned back around and noticed a hint of a smile on his face. "Are you really a virgin?" the patient asked. Shaun's eyes darted around the room nervously, deciding upon the right words to use. "D-Dr. Glassman…said to wait until I'm married or find someone very special." Roger processed this. Shaun could see that he was working hard on thinking what to say, so he stayed for a moment so the thought could come to him. "Even the ones that love you and that are the most special to you can hurt you, Shaun." he said sadly.

Unfortunately, Shaun knew exactly what he meant. He had parents who he thought loved him—but it was actually a painful and controlling kind of love that ended up causing him trouble in the end. Roger reached out and took Shaun's hand feebly. "Just stay innocent," he whispered. "Don't throw your whole life away for one person." The tears had returned to his patient's eyes. Though he was uncomfortable having his hand held, he decided that remaining there would probably be good for the man that was reflecting upon his life decisions at the moment he was processing the idea that he wasn't going to have much longer to live. To Shaun, his message went deeper than sex and virginity and intimacy—it meant to him that he wasn't going to live fully if he kept making the same mistakes and decisions over and over again. To keep pressing forward and not let anyone or anything stop him. To use good judgment. To understand who was going to be there for him in the end and who wasn't. What was temporary, what was fleeting. Instead of conveying this out loud, Shaun just tightened his grip a little on the man's hand, hoping that it would communicate that he promised to take the advice.


	16. Compassion

**I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written anything. Life has become so crazy and busy. I want to keep writing though and I promise to do so as often as I can. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a little bit of a bridge, so stay tuned for a followup chapter coming soon. I promise.**

* * *

Shaun rolled over, letting out a soft sigh. Friday morning—the only day of the week where he had enough time to sleep in. Not that it was that easy. But it at least gave him a chance. And the best thing about this particular Friday morning was that Dr. Glassman was home for the weekend, and he'd promised Shaun he would bring home as many of the new and updated patient reports of his that he could get his hands on. Just thinking about this made Shaun's heart flutter with excitement. He gave his stuffed bunny a squeeze before stretching his arms out and yawning. He climbed out of bed. The soft, deep aroma of coffee brewing gave his heart a happy hug; it was the telltale sign that Dr. Glassman was home.

Dr. Glassman looked up from the newspaper when he heard soft footsteps enter the room from the hallway. He gave a sad smile. Shaun had terrible bedhead this morning—Dr. Glassman learned from experience that it usually meant Shaun had just endured a rough night disturbed by nightmares and memories of his difficult childhood. "Good morning, Shaun." he greeted. The boy answered with a wave and a sleepy half-smile. Mechanically, he went about his morning routine—go to the cupboard, take out the box of cat food, fill Noodle's bowl, bring it outside to the porch… As soon as the first few crunchies clattered into the bowl, a flash of fuzz tore by Dr. Glassman's feet and zoomed out to where the breakfast was being served. Shaun set the bowl down and stroked the cat's back. He closed the front door behind him. "My god," Dr. Glassman remarked, wide-eyed. "I didn't see that thing all morning and then when it's time to eat, it materializes." Shaun gave a contented nod. "Y-Yes, Noodle is always hungry."

"What made you pick that name?"

"I was eating chicken soup. It was cold outside. I heard a cat meowing so I let it in. I didn't have any cat food. So I gave him the rest of my soup and he ate all of the noodles and the chicken but he left the carrots and celery. So his name is Noodle."

Nodding carefully (but not fully understanding), Dr. Glassman took a sip of his coffee. Shaun went to the chair in the living room and picked up the heavy bag that he recognized as Dr. Glassman's "doctor bag". He brought it to the kitchen table and hopefully set it down; his way of asking if he could take a look at the new patient cases. The man smiled. "Already, huh?" he asked with a chuckle. "I know, I know. I promised." He opened up the messenger bag and pulled out a thick manila folder that bore the label "scans". He slid it over to Shaun. "Have a look at the first four that are on top, and you tell me what the problem is and where." he directed. Eagerly, Shaun sat forward and straight. His eyes glued themselves to the dark photographs of gray and white and translucent blue pictures before him. Seeing this determination in the young pre-med student made Dr. Glassman smile. Here was this boy who had come from a difficult situation where he was expected to become nothing, sitting in front of him flapping his hands excitedly and pointing at a small subdural hemorrhage he'd identified on a scan he'd never seen before, while still wearing his pajamas over his thin frame. A picture so innocent, so sweet, and yet the epitome of determination to prove everyone wrong.

Shaun traced the grayish bubble in the temporal lobe of the brain. "Has your work been busy, Shaun?" Dr. Glassman asked. The boy nodded. "My friend Emmie lets me take my lunch break at the same time every day. But sometimes she gets so busy, she doesn't take hers."

"You must see a lot of patients then."

"Why doesn't she take her lunch break at the same time every day?"

"I don't know."

"It's…stupid to have a different routine every day."

"Well, maybe her routine is skipping lunch."

"I like my job. I see a lot of patients. I read a lot of charts."

"That's great practice, Shaun. Definitely going to help you in medical school someday."

Shaun gave a proud little smile and flipped to the next scan in the pile. Within only a few minutes, Shaun's cell phone started ringing. Confused, he glanced at it on the table. "Is it the cat calling you for a refill?" Dr. Glassman asked jokingly. Shaun shook his head. "Noodle can't dial a phone," he said softly. The older man bit his lip. The sarcasm thing was just something Shaun would never pick up. The boy held his phone gingerly as if contemplating whether or not he should answer it. In the last second, he did. Dr. Glassman snuck glances at his face as he listened to whoever it was on the phone—who would be calling this early, and why would they be calling Shaun of all people? He started to get a little worried when he noticed his face dropping and his eyes glazing over. He reached out a hand to try to get the boy's attention. "I can be there," Shaun mechanically said into the phone. "Is she…" he didn't finish. After just a few more seconds, he gave the caller a simple "ok" and then hung up.

Dr. Glassman didn't want to interfere with Shaun's privacy, but he did want to make sure he was alright. No keeping secrets with this child of his. "Where are you going to be?" he asked.

"At work."

"Was that your supervisor calling you in?"

"Yes."

"But it's your day off. You've got to take some time to relax for yourself Shaun, it's not healthy to—"

"There was an emergency and my friend Emmie is not ok."

Dr. Glassman stopped. He could see the emotions building in Shaun's stormy eyes. Confusion, fear, anxiety, sadness swirled around in his gray irises and seemed to spill down his worried facial expression. Shaun was definitely diverting his eyes and not wanting to make eye contact. "Why is she…did they say what…happened?" Dr. Glassman asked carefully. Shaun nodded. He was beginning to rock himself in his chair. This was not a good sign. "S-She was working all night and then this morning she was reading a chest vac and stood up but got lightheaded and she fainted and fell down and she wouldn't wake up so they coded her but she did wake up and they had to send her home so she could go see her doctor and now they don't have someone to work her shift for her today and they need me to go and do it." Shaun was breathing a little quickly. Obviously this story had him upset. Dr. Glassman reached over to try to at least steady him and get him to focus on a stationary object (something they'd been practicing as a method to calm down) gently cooing and telling him to relax. Shaun nervously gripped his own wrists. "S-She is my friend," he murmured, repeating himself a few times. "She is ornery, but she is my friend." Dr. Glassman touched his hand. "I know that," he said assuringly. "But Shaun, the good thing is whatever happened to her, she's getting some help from her doctor. Whatever it was that caused her to faint, they can take care of. Don't worry, she's going to be alright. She came to, she was able to go home, she probably just needs to rest. And I think you do too. Please just call them back and have them ask someone else. I really would like to see you relax today, just for one day. You've got a lot on your plate right now." Shaun continued rocking gently, considering everything that Dr. Glassman said. He took a long pause before explaining his decision. "S-She would want her work to get done no matter what. I need to do that for her."

He rose from the table and went into the bathroom, where he changed into his scrubs and brushed his teeth and hair. His work ethic was admirable. His dedication to medicine was remarkable. His compassion for others, although he never saw it in himself, was strong. Dr. Glassman thought about all of these qualities of his little guy as he watched Shaun scramble to prepare for his unexpected day. As the boy tugged on his shoe, Dr. Glassman stood up and went to him to fix an upturned sleeve and give his head a gentle pat. "You're going to be a good doctor someday, Shaun." he said encouragingly. Of course he didn't want the boy to push himself so hard he ran himself down. But Dr. Glassman had seen many students, many residents, many doctors in his time. And the successful ones were always the one who had a heart mind and soul for medicine. Shaun had that. He had a desire for healthcare and for treating people that coursed through his veins. However it got there, whatever inspired him and drove him and kept him going, it didn't matter. What mattered was that he wasn't letting go of his dream. He was selflessly dedicating himself to his coworkers and his patients. Shaun gave a small smile as he stared off to the side of Dr. Glassman. "Y-You…are a good doctor. I want to be like you." With that, he turned and hurried out of the door.

Dr. Glassman stayed where he was for a few moments after he watched Shaun dash away towards his bus stop. Sometimes Shaun showed love in strange ways. But he'd come to recognize those ways and he appreciated them even more. They were all the more special. Dr. Glassman felt himself smile proudly. No matter what, he'd always hoped he'd influenced Shaun for the better. As he picked up his newspaper again to sit back and read, he suddenly heard a soft meow at the front door. He rolled his eyes. Maybe Shaun was a little too compassionate.


	17. Patience, Patients

Hi, sorry for the late update. Shaun has some tough lessons to learn and I thought maybe it would be better to present them to him this way instead of in the form of direct patient encounters. I like when he can learn on a personal level. If this chapter seems a little slow, don't give up-the next one will be pretty heart-pounding. Thanks again for reading.

* * *

Shaun watched. Intently. Closely. Staring.

Every movement, every sound her voice made, every one of her nonverbal cues.

Stable. There was no shakiness, no twitch, no—

"Can you stop staring at me, please?" Emmie said, abruptly breaking his train of thought. "It's hard to concentrate when someone's eyeballs are glued to you." Shaun nervously looked away, catching a glimpse of her eyeroll as she completed her charting on their last patient. He also returned to counting the med cart's stock of syringes, which was his task for the end of their shift. An awkward silence passed. Shaun broke it by carefully asking, "Did you…get a lot of rest?" Emmie didn't look up from her computer screen. "As much as I needed," she replied shortly. Shaun gave a nod. "D-Did your boyfriend bring you flowers?"

"He did,"

"…W-What kind?"

"Does it matter?"

"Daisies are for friendship, violets are for grief, roses are for love and so on. He should have gotten you roses. You almost died."

"I didn't almost die. I fainted."

"And experienced a period of tachycardia with lung stagnation which lowered your SPO2 and caused them to need to code you and begin performing cardiopulmonary resuscitation—"

"Ok. I get it. Point taken."

Shaun turned one of the packaged syringes back and forth in his anxious fingers as he kept an eye on his friend. "What happened?" he asked quietly. Emmie let out a slow breath, turned to face him, and quipped, "I experienced a period of tachycardia with lung stagnation which lowered my SPO2 and caused them to need to code me and begin performing cardiopulmonary resuscitation." She stalked away to the next patient's room, leaving him standing at the med cart alone. "P-Point taken," he softly repeated to himself.

It wasn't much farther into the shift when Shaun was using some of his free time to scan through a medical magazine he'd found in the lounge and he happened to glance over at his shift partner, staring at her phone with a concerned face. He needed to observe. Her face had flushed white, her lips were pale. Her hands were trembling slightly. "Is…everything—"

"Everything's fine, Shaun." Emmie snapped. But she didn't look fine. He kept an eye on her cautiously—no matter how tired she always was or how short she replied to her coworkers, she was his friend. She understood him. They had their own special way of working with one another, and for that Shaun was very grateful. She was his friend. Emmie's phone began ringing, and with a quick pardon, she answered it and hurried out of the unit. "Hey, love," was all Shaun heard her say. Jaelyn, another nurse on their unit who was sitting nearby let out a scoff. "So weird," she muttered. Shaun looked her way. Jaelyn raised an eyebrow. "She thinks she's got it all figured out," she went on. Inside, Shaun felt a little exasperated—there always seemed to be drama and bad blood between the nursing staff. "She's not fooling anybody." Jaelyn continued.

"What would she need to fool someone about?" he asked cautiously. Another scoff.

"Haven't you noticed? She doesn't eat. Ever. And if she does, I swear she goes and makes herself throw up after. She's got bit issues. And she thinks no one can see it. But god help you if you try to help her."

"…What if she doesn't need help?"

"She does. Look at her. Someone doesn't have a panic attack so bad they pass out. Normal people don't work sixteen to twenty hours a day. She's hiding something."

"She is nice."

"To your face. But when you bring your concerns about her personal crap to the charge nurse in hopes of maybe getting her some help, she'll lash out at you like a tiger."

Shaun stayed quiet. He knew that yes, Emmie did have an abrasive side to her. But that didn't mean she was a bad person, or one that deserved to be avoided. Jaelyn shook her head. "Don't get involved with that one." she said directly. Shaun averted her eyes but glanced in her direction. "She's got too many issues. Don't take that on. Believe me." She stepped away to gather her lab results from the collection tray so she could send them to the doctor. Shaun gazed off in the direction of where he last saw his partner go.

Not too much later, Shaun realized that Emmie had taken her phone call and not returned, and had also not signed his inventory count sheet like she had to at the end of every day to ensure nothing was missing. Gathering the list to be signed and a pen, he headed to the stairwell to see if he could maybe find his shift partner still on the phone outside. He made his way to the echoey stairs and went down just a few flights when suddenly he heard whispering. He stopped. Was he interrupting a private conversation somewhere? After a few seconds, he heard a male voice. "Ok, they're gone." it said. "But listen to me. That's not the point. I'm not paying for any more of this. Got it? No more of this bullshit. You pass out one more time and you're on your own." Shaun furrowed his brow. He peaked carefully over the railing to see a few floors down. His stomach dropped. It was Emmie, and apparently her boyfriend. She didn't have the same tired expression she usually wore on her face—instead she looked alert, and…scared? Shaun stayed silent as he watched the encounter. The young man went on. "I'm tired of it, Emmalyn. You either get your shit together and fix whatever the hell this problem is that's making you pass out or black out or whatever, or you're on your own with your medical bills for next time. Because when I opened that letter today that had the bill it in, I can _assure_ you I was not happy especially since you didn't tell me about the bill from three months ago, and now it's in collections and I have a massive balance on the account. Do you understand?" Emmie looked away from him, towards the ground. Suddenly he snatched her thin arm in his hand with a squeezing grip. She gasped. Shaun felt his heart start racing. "Answer me, Emmalyn, I'm not playing around." the man demanded. She gave a nod, but apparently that wasn't enough. He shook his head and scoffed, waving one of his arms in defeat. "Not even an apology, or a thank-you. My god, you're a selfish bitch." As soon as his arm came up though, Shaun noticed that Emmie had flinched, as if recoiling from an expected blow.

Now his stomach was churning. He couldn't watch anymore. He silently ran up a few more steps and threw the door open, letting himself out onto a floor he had no idea the purpose of. He just knew he had to find a bathroom. Fast. Shaun charged down the hallway (apparently it was the cardiovascular stepdown unit) and burst through the men's room doors, bolting a stall door shut behind him. He threw himself in front of the toilet bowl and dry heaved.

…

Upon getting home that night, Shaun patiently waited for Dr. Glassman to finish the phone call to St. Bonaventure that he was occupied with. The moment the call was ended, Shaun leaned across the desk his caregiver was sitting at and bluntly asked, "Why do you love me?" Dr. Glassman was taken aback, quite startled at the unprecedented question that had never really arisen before. He stammered on his words. What exactly was Shaun asking? How was he going to answer this loaded question? "I-I'm afraid I…I don't understand." Dr. Glassman replied. Shaun didn't relent. "Why do you love me?"

"Why do I…?"

"If you really wanted to take care of a child after Maddie died, you could've easily adopted one of any age. Why did you choose to take care of me instead?"

"…Shaun you had no one, nowhere to go. How could I have just…Shaun, is this a trick question?"

"No. You could have loved anyone else. You could've had a child who was smarter, kinder, more…normal. You picked me. Why?"

"I didn't pick…Shaun you fell into my life, and I firmly believe you came to me at the time and place you did for a reason. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I wouldn't ever want anyone different than you. Shaun…please tell me what this is all about."

Shaun now had tears in his eyes. How could he get this out into words? He needed answers, he needed to know how to reach out to someone. His mouth opened and closed, trying to form words without a voice. "I was…in a bad situation." he stuttered with a runny nose. Dr. Glassman sat forward in his chair, now concerned with what Shaun might be alluding to. "Do you know someone in a bad situation too?" he asked carefully. A tear fell from the boy's eye. "I don't know." he said.

"Tell me. Who're you concerned about right now? Is it a patient you met? ER work can be hard on the emotions Shaun, it's no secret—"

"It's my friend Emmie."

"Oh, that one you work with? The one who passed out the other day?"

"Yes."

"Well what's worrying you?"

"Today Jaelyn said that Emmie is starving herself and she told me not to get close to Emmie because she had lots of problems but Emmie is my friend so I went looking for her when it was time to leave because she needed to sign my supply count form and I found her in a stairwell talking to her boyfriend but her boyfriend was angry and yelling at her so I ran away because Jaelyn said not to get involved and now I feel guilty because I was a bad friend and what if she's not ok?"

Dr. Glassman took a deep breath. Wow, this was a lot. Not only a lot to listen to, but a lot for someone like Shaun to process. He had to tread carefully. "So you're worried that her situation is bad and she doesn't know how to ask for help?" he confirmed. Shaun wrung his hands. "Jaelyn said to not get involved because she tried once and Emmie lashed out at her like a tiger and I don't want that."

"You're afraid that trying to help will cause you to lose your friend."

"Yes."

"Are you sure though? Are you sure of what you saw? Were they just arguing as a couple in the stairwell? Maybe this girl is just slim because she, I don't know…works out a lot? Are you sure it's something that really is a problem?"

Shaun blinked his eyes as tears shed even quicker. "Daddy…used to yell at me." he murmured. "And I used to be scared of him when he yelled because he yelled when he was angry and when he was angry he would hit me. Emmie…looked like she was that kind of scared too." Dr. Glassman nodded sadly. He understood. Shaun sniffled and rubbed his face on his sleeve. "So why do you love me? Why did you want to take care of me even though I was in a bad situation that could have hurt you if you weren't careful?" he asked. Though proud that he was relating his experiences to another person's and asking good questions, Dr. Glassman felt his heart aching for Shaun as he was being exposed to another tough life lesson. He stood up, walked around to the front of the desk, and sat beside Shaun in a chair. He let a silence pass as the boy dabbed more tears away from his pale face. "Because Shaun," he said softly, looking him in the eye. "a person's situation, no matter how bad, does not make them unworthy of love." He could almost see the boy trying to process this. "Have patience with her. She's afraid, she doesn't want anyone charging and rescuing her like a knight in shining armor because she doesn't know what her life will be like after, or if she'll be safe. Be there for her. Comfort her. But don't cross any lines that might put her in danger. We can work through it and maybe in time she'll come up with a plan to change things. But that isn't up to you. It's up to her. That's why she lashes at people who try to get involved. Be patient." he advised gently.

Shaun rubbed his eyes and gave a sniffle again. Dr. Glassman put a hand on his shoulder, but was not offended when it was shrugged off. Shaun rose from his chair. "I have a headache. I want to go to sleep." he mumbled. Dr. Glassman smiled weakly. "I bet. This is…a lot. But Shaun it's going to be ok. You're doing all you can." Shaun rubbed his forehead and left the room, headed straight to bed. He couldn't even undress. He just flopped down, laid upon the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Oh this was hard. This was so hard. Why would Emmie be so tough and strong at work but then allow herself to be treated the way he saw her boyfriend treat her? Why wouldn't she leave right away? What was stopping her from saving herself? And why, why wouldn't she let anyone help her or at least show that she needed help? Patience, patience. He had to be there for her. But how? Shaun took his phone out with trembling fingers and typed a message, the first he'd ever sent to her without warrant, that he hoped would show her he was going to help her as a friend. " _I am here when you need anything._ "


	18. Secrets

Quietly, very quietly, Shaun tiptoed into the dark hospital room with his pen in hand and eyes wide with caution. His patient had _finally_ gotten to sleep after several hours of difficulty and failed attempts. Being voted the most sensitive to sound and therefore most likely to move quietly, it was deemed his task to sneak in there, catch a glimpse of the vitals screen, sneak out, and report his findings to the RN on duty. He was so close. Maybe the patient would stay sleeping. Maybe once she fell asleep, she'd go straight to the deepest level and not wake easily. Just as long as his patient didn't hear him tap the monitor's screen to brighten it…

"MAMA!"

The three-year-old patient in the hospital bed woke in screaming tears as soon as Shaun's tape measure clip clinked against the metal rail of the bed. Recoiling at the sudden sharp noise, Shaun quickly turned around and hurried outside the room to be greeted by his nursing coworkers who were groaning and rolling their eyes. Emmie rubbed her forehead. "Shaun…!" she grumbled in frustration. This particular young patient had been admitted earlier in the day with an urgent request from her pediatrician to be seen in the emergency room due to a severe onset of sudden pneumonia. Since she was so young, her mother was allowed to stay with her overnight. However, getting the child to sleep in the hospital hadn't been an easy task for anyone on the unit. Emmie stood up from her seat at the station desk and trudged into the room without another word. Nervously, Shaun rubbed his hands together and tried to avoid meeting the exasperated gazes of his coworkers. He watch Emmie go into the room instead. She was far, far better than him at dealing with pediatric patients so far. He didn't feel uneasy about them, he just didn't like it when they cried and cried and cried and _cried_ …

Within just a few minutes, he heard the young girl in the room reduced her wailing to sniffles and intermittent coughs. Emmie was at the bedside. She was using the girl's stuffed animal as a puppet and getting the girl to relax. She looked up and noticed Shaun watching from the door. She motioned with her head for him to step in and join her. Slowly, he made his way in, afraid that the child would start loudly screaming again. He joined Emmie at the bedside. "Jolie," she whispered. "This is Shaun. Can you say hi to Shaun?" The girl with the tearful eyes looked uncertainly at the tall boy standing over her. Emmie handed him another stuffed animal—a tiger with a long fuzzy tail. "You suck at dealing with kids," she told him bluntly. "At least maybe you can use this experience to get better." Shaun felt himself smile a little. He liked learning, and he liked when his partner included him in new experiences. He extended the tiger out towards the girl. "Talk to her," Emmie encouraged. "Kids feel safer when you explain things to them as they're happening." Shaun thought about this statement. He supposed it was true. When he was in fourth grade at the doctor's office, he remembered the nice lady who was talked to him and told him what she was doing while performing a simple finger prick for a CBC. It had soothed him a bit. And Shaun had not been an easy child to bring to the doctor. Carefully, he brushed the toy against his patient's cheek. "I'm giving you tiger." he said. The little girl opened her arms to it and kept an eye on him. Emmie nodded. "Good job," she complimented. "Not so hard, huh?" Shaun shook his head, making the tiger's arm move so that it tapped the girl's nose, eliciting a giggle. "Think you've got the hang of it?" Emmie asked. Shaun glanced up at her. He nodded, letting her see a small smile. Maybe this wasn't so bad. She patted him on the back swiftly. "Good. Get her back to sleep. You're on baby duty now." She turned and left the room, leaving Shaun at the bedside of his young girl.

It did take a long time. This child was not a sleeper. Shaun went through his mind and made a list as to why she may not be able to sleep and what he could do to fix it—the lights weren't on, sure it was a little noisy outside her room, but there were stuffed animals on the bed, three extra blankets, her mom was there asleep in a chair. He eventually had to pull up a rolling stool to take a seat at the bedside and continue playing with the girl. As she reached for his badge reel to pull on the nametag, Shaun considered what life would be like if he had a child of his own. Would his child potentially have autism too? He thought hard about what he'd read in Dr. Glassman's textbooks—many neurodiverse conditions were often hereditary, not excluding sensory processing disorders and communication disorders. Was that a bad thing? He didn't really know what "normal" was. Yet he considered himself to be pretty happy. Well, he began thinking, he'd need to find a girl he liked first. And then like her enough to marry her. And then get a house with her. And then become comfortable enough to have sex with her. Shaun blinked his eyes—there were a lot of steps he'd be required to take before having a child. Maybe that was a good thing.

Shaun was pulled out of his daydream when he heard a soft "Psst," from the doorway. It was Emmie, and standing with her was another nurse. "Got to go to the lab," she whispered. "Let Kenzie take over for you so you can come with me." Shaun quietly stood up, making sure his tape measure clip did not hit the rail this time, and hurried out the door with his partner. "Why are we going to the lab? We're not allowed in the lab." he asked, trying to keep up with Emmie's fast stride.

"Because we haven't gotten her results yet from her culture."

"She has pneumonia. She already has a diagnosis."

"Dr. Costello thinks she might have Duchenne's."

Shaun racked his brain. Duchenne's. Pediatric Muscular Dystrophy. An X-linked chromosomal disorder. Restricted airway clearance, weakened cardiac muscle. Weakened immune system, Asthma, pneumonia, respiratory infections becoming more frequent. He nodded carefully as they sped along. "It's…probable for her age and history of upper respiratory infections and heart murmur that's listed in her chart." he reported.

"Yep, so we need to get those lab results fast to make sure we aren't killing her by overloading her system with unnecessary antibiotics."

"It's an inherited trait from the X chromosome, so she got it from her mother."

"Well her mom could be a carrier and never know it."

"S-Some neurological conditions are inherited."

"…Yes, some of them are."

"Like autism."

"Yeah but I'd rather my kid have autism than Duchenne's or something like that."

Shaun stopped walking. He was confused—why would Emmie say that? She turned back and looked at him "What?" she asked. He thought about his words carefully before answering. "Y-You…would rather have a child with autism as opposed to something…treatable?" he asked. Emmie shrugged. "Yeah. Autism isn't scary. It's just…seeing the world through a different window. I can handle that." Shaun felt something lift in him. Was that how other people saw it too? Something not scary or bad or upsetting? It made him feel better. His teachers, his parents, his classroom aides used to always treat him like he was such a burden because of how his brain was wired—but suddenly, he'd been exposed to a different outlook on what he'd always thought was something he should hide. "Come out of dreamland, we need to get there fast before the MD rounds on our floor again." Emmie quipped. Shaun hurried and caught up with her again.

They made it to the lab and had to wait a bit for the technicians to find the results of the numerous tests performed on the young patient. As they sat in the waiting area's chairs, Shaun glanced over at his partner. She was wearing her hair different today. It was more down around her face than usual. He just didn't understand—why not wear your hair the same way every day? Suddenly, something caught his eye. Just behind her ear, where the hair was tucked and pinned, he noticed a dark purple lining the base of the cartilage. His eyes followed where it went as it traveled up her face. Where her bangs swept across her forehead, Shaun noticed a red welt. A weird place for an injury. "Got your paperwork here," the lab tech called out, causing Emmie to get up quickly and head to the counter to collect it. Shaun followed her. "What happened to your head?" he asked aloud. Emmie shot him a look. "Why is it so…bruised?" Emmie was signing for the lab reports. "Not now, Shaun." she muttered, accepting the receipt from the lab tech. "Did your boyfriend hit you?" he went on. Emmie's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. She stared at him, as did the lab tech who was overhearing everything. "Shaun!" she gasped. "Do not ever say that! He absolutely did _not!_ " Shaun immediately darted his eyes away from her angry glare. Why would she act this way? He saw how her boyfriend treated her. And they were close friends—they'd shared secrets before. Why wouldn't she tell him the truth? Emmie snatched the paperwork from the lab tech and stormed away.

Shaun jogged to keep up with her even though she was ignoring him. "Well then what happened?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation open, just as Dr. Glassman advised. Emmie whirled around and stopped in the quiet hallway. "Will you drop it, Shaun?! It has absolutely nothing to do with you."

"It's an abnormal place to have bruis—"

"It's not, Shaun. It's really not. Not when you—you…you're bringing groceries into the apartment and you miss a step and fall and don't have any free hands to catch yourself. Ok?!"

"…I heard your boyfriend yelling at you last week in the stairwell at work."

Emmie's anger-flashing eyes suddenly turned concerned. "What are you talking about?" she asked, becoming visibly nervous about the topic. Shaun bit his lip. "I…heard him yelling at you. He was angry because of your medical bills. He grabbed your arm hard. You thought he was going to hit you." he said as straightforward as he could. The tears were beginning to build in his eyes as he recalled the incident in his memory. Emmie stuttered for a moment, but went silent and looked at the floor. It felt like an eternity passed. "You're wrong, Shaun." she murmured. "He's never hurt me. Ever." Shaun felt a surge of anger course over his heart. Did she think he was stupid? Was she going to deny what he knew he saw? He could feel himself shaking. "H-He hurt you." he said through gritting teeth. "He grabbed your arm hard."

"So what? People do that. You wouldn't understand."

"I do understand!"

"Oh sure, with all of your relationship experience!"

Shaun's heart pounded. He shoved the supply cart that was nearby them in intense anger, causing Emmie to jump back in fear. "I understand!" Shaun shouted. "I understand! I understand! _I understand!_ " Emmie put her hands up, eyes wide. "Shaun…" she pleaded breathlessly. He shoved the cart again. She let out a small yelp of surprise. Thinking quickly, she jumped to the other side of the supply cart and pushed against it with all of her strength just in time for Shaun to give it another thrust. This time, her counterforce stopped it from going far again and kept her safe with a barrier between them. He slammed his hands down on the top, tears streaming down his reddened face. "I understand!" he repeated. Emmie nodded, reaching one of her hands up to keep his down. "You can't say that!" he shouted again, Emmie begged out an apology. "You can't say I don't understand! I do! I do because my dad got mad at me all the time and he grabbed me like that before he would hit my face!" Emmie stopped, meeting Shaun's eyes with tearful ones of her own. She slightly shook her head. "Ok," she gasped out. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." Shaun took his hands away from the supply cart and used them to pull on his own hair. He was sobbing. "Why…do you let him?" he cried out.

"It's a c-complicated situation, Shaun—"

"No it's not! Hitting is bad! Hitting is n-not l-love! You are an adult and you can get out! Why do you stay with someone who puts you in a bad situation?!"

"He's all I have!"

"You have _me!_ "

Emmie was sobbing now too, but wasn't ready to take her eyes off of Shaun in his period of unpredictable behavior. He was breathing hard, gasping for air. She shook her head again. "It's more than that, Shaun." she explained simply, tears streaming down her face. Shaun was working hard at calming himself down. Hands wringing in front of him, he closed his eyes. "I-I…can help you." he panted. "You can stay with me and Dr. Glassman. He won't mind. He is kind. He helped me." Emmie hugged herself and looked up at the ceiling. "Shaun, I appreciate it. But…it isn't _safe_ for me to do that." He let his hands uncurl and tried to take a deep breath. Emmie sat down on the floor with her back against the wall. She covered her face with her hands. Shaun joined her on the ground, not wanting to really touch her but knowing she could use some comfort. He gently raised a hand and lightly patted the top of her head. She looked over at him sideways, drying her tears on her sleeve. She sighed. "You can never," she hissed, strained. "tell another living soul about this, Shaun." Though she was staring at the wall ahead of her, he could sense that the fire in her voice was directed at him. "Because if you do, I will immediately report your behavior in this hallway tonight, and you will lose any chance of having a career in the medical field. Do you understand?" Comprehending the depth of this situation, Shaun nodded quickly. He knew he shouldn't have become so emotional. And he definitely knew that if anyone ever found out about this angry outburst, he may lose his job and have the incident filed on a record. "I-I'll keep your secret if you keep mine." he whispered. Emmie nodded in agreement.

They both stayed there, huddled against the wall catching their breath for a while longer. Shaun decided it was time to break the silence when he ordered his thoughts on the matter. "I-I…was scared of my dad." he told her. "I was lucky because my brother helped me get out. I want…I want to be the one who gets you out." Emmie closed her eyes. As much as she appreciated Shaun's efforts, she knew it wasn't going to influence her situation for the better. "Not every story's going to have a good ending." she sighed. Shaun's eyes welled with tears again. He blindly reached out and patted Emmie's hand gently.

They stood up, picked up the supplies that had fallen off the cart during the ordeal, and began heading to the elevators wordlessly. Emmie smoothed out her lab result papers and brushed off some dust that had been trampled into the top third of the page. As they waited at the doors, Shaun glanced over at his partner, who was additionally rearranging her hair so that the area he'd spotted was well covered again. "D-Did that change your mind about having a child with autism?" he asked quietly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear her response to that. It was a pretty loaded question, he realized, but if he didn't ask now, he might never know. Emmie stayed silent as she thought it over. She bit her lip, turned her head to look at him, and firmly gave him an answer.

"No."

Despite everything, Shaun felt a small smile of relief drift onto his face. The elevator doors opened with a ding, and he held them so that she could enter first. He stepped inside and stood beside her. Perhaps everyone had their own issues they were hiding. Maybe it wasn't just him. Maybe everyone had something hiding in the dark that they didn't want brought to light. He let out a soft sigh, surprised when Emmie did too at the same time. The elevator doors closed.


	19. Bridges

**Just a quick trigger warning-if you feel uncomfortable, please don't finish reading. The next chapter will follow linearly.**

* * *

Shaun paced slowly, tossing the roll of gauze he was holding back and forth between his hands. He was excited but also terrified. Today was going to be his first day as a technician in the critical care unit. Trauma was always something he'd had a particular interest in—it was fast paced, kept his brain busy, made it easier to focus. Not to mention, when he and Dr. Glassman brought Steve to the emergency room that night, he'd been immediately transferred to trauma surgery due to the magnitude of the accident…

However today he could not think about that. He needed to put all of his effort and energy into performing his best in this new unit. His partner Emmie was going to be with him—she had prior trauma experience before and was familiar with the computer system they used to track specific vitals on each patient. As Shaun waited for her to arrive on the floor, he counted how many tiles on the floor there were between critical care pod B and C. Twenty-six. Twenty-six tiles. Where was Emmie? Twenty-six tiles. The doors beeped as they opened. Where was Emmie? Twenty-six tiles. Twenty-six tiles. A bed was coming. Twenty-six tiles. Twenty-six—

A voice called out his name from the entrance to the pod B critical care unit. Shaun looked up. It was another nurse, motioning for him to follow her. "Your friend apparently isn't going to show up today. I'm going to partner you up with James over here so he can show you the ropes." she informed quickly, pointing at a male nurse sitting at a computer desk. Shaun felt his breathing quicken. No Emmie? A new unit? A new trainer? This was not going to be good. Things already weren't the same here—the medication drawers were on the far wall next to the nurses' station. The desks were lower to the ground. Beeping heart monitors everywhere. Ventilators hissing. A patient choking on his own sputum. Crinkling papers. Phones ringing off the hook. Chatter, chatter, chatter. What was that bright flashing burst of light? "Code! Code! Four, I need everyone in four, everyone in four!" a nurse shouted. Chaos broke out, it felt like. Five nurses leapt up from their desks and ran to room four, two doctors ran in from god knows where, the bright light kept flashing, the flatline buzz echoed everywhere. Shaun scrambled to reach into his pocket. He grabbed his plastic toy scalpel and clutched it close to his chest. This was a lot. Too much. He squeezed his eyes closed.

In a moment, it felt like everything stopped. Shaun snapped his eyes open when he heard the male nurse (whose nametag said Tyler) was calling his name and shaking his shoulder. "Hey, are you good?" he asked, concern in his eyes. Shaun caught his breath for a moment. He must've spaced himself out—the code blue was over, the patient apparently didn't make it. Most of the nurses were returning to their desks. The morgue was already on scene. Shaun nodded shakily. Tyler handed him a folder of papers and pointed towards room four. "Can you go give these to one of the guys there in the gray shirts?" Shaun realized that he was being asked to deliver the printed medical records of the patient to the staff designated to bring the body down and have it prepared for the final arrangements. He cautiously approached the group of people, edging his way towards where they were working. After quickly performing his duty, he hurried back over to his new trainer. "Sad," Tyler said. "Kid was only twenty-five." The body of the patient was still wearing a neck brace, still had IVs and electrodes attached to his skin. Shaun cleared his throat softly. "W-What happened to him?" he asked quietly. Tyler sighed. "Suicide attempt. Two days ago he jumped off that big bridge over the Massopawlett river—you know, the one that like everyone who's suicidal goes to jump off of? Fell like three or four stories and hit the water head on. A boater found him and called 911, and he was brought here. He seemed like he was going to make it for a little while but his lungs were just completed shredded by the broken ribs."

"S-Suicide is s-sad…"

"Yeah. Sucks thinking that someone's life situation can be so bad that they feel like their only way out is by death. I can't imagine what that must be like."

Shaun suddenly felt as if an icy hand wrapped itself around his throat. There was something about that statement that scared him. He knew someone close to him was in a bad situation. Emmie. As the days had gone on since Shaun revealed to her that he knew about the abuse, she opened up a bit more about her personal life to him. And it wasn't good. Shaun stared down at the plastic scalpel in his hand, Emmie's words echoing through his mind: "Sometimes I just wish that I could just disappear from all this." A shiver swept through him. The morgue team covered the victim's head with a sheet, and swiftly rolled the stretcher out of the critical care unit without a word.

…

That night, Shaun sat at his desk in his room, attempting to finish up his calculus assignment for school the next morning. It was distracting—his brain was abuzz from the crazy day he'd just endured in the ICU. All of those beeping IV lines were reverberating in his ears still, the smell of the super concentrated disinfectant left his nose stinging, the sensation of constantly having paper tape stuck to the back of his hands was unpleasant. But most of all, he was emotionally scarred from that body of the suicide victim he encountered first thing in the day. How could someone want to do that? Why would someone want to die? Thinking back, he recalled a time shortly after Steve's death that he prayed one night to God to be taken up to Heaven too. Was that a suicidal thought? Shaun wasn't sure. His heart was racing. He knew he'd been through tough times. He certainly still had more to come. But he couldn't imagine how hard things would have to be for someone to actually consider ending their own life. Shaun stood up from his desk, pacing back and forth (nine steps each way) pensively. Emmie still hadn't answered his text message from 9:27 that morning. And she hadn't shown up to work, which was absolutely unheard of for her. Shaun rubbed his hands together. God, he hoped she hadn't made the same decision as his deceased patient…

Shaun couldn't get the image of the bridge Tyler had mentioned out of his mind. The place where most suicidal people went to carry out their final deed. If Emmie was there, maybe he could stop her. Maybe he could take her off the bridge if she was thinking about jumping. Maybe he could save her from her situation like Steve had saved him from his. Shaun broke his calculated pacing and headed straight for the front door. There was no time to wait for a bus. He had to get there as quickly as possible in case there was a chance that Emmie was in danger.

As soon as his feet left the porch, he dashed into a run. He'd only ever heard of this particular river area, he'd never been. It was a part of Casper that he and Steve hadn't toured. He fought through the stinging cold air and pushed himself towards the direction he presumed correct. There wasn't any time to lose. As he ran, tears streamed down his cheeks. The very thought of losing someone he finally felt comfortable around enough to call a friend—it hurt too much. Was he even meant to ever come to trust anyone? The darkness strained his eyes and frigid air bit at his exposed limbs; in his haste, he'd forgotten to wear a jacket. It didn't matter to him though. He could make it. It would be worth it if he could potentially save her.

…

Dr. Glassman burst through the emergency room doors, wildly searching for the reception desk and scrambling to keep himself together as he approached the nurse in green scrubs sitting at her computer. "Excuse me," he gasped. "I'm here for…I need to see…there's a patient here, just admitted, that I'm…" He paused to let out a cough—this sudden transition to Wyoming icy air was testing his lungs. The woman watched him attempt to straighten his hat and scarf. "Patient name and date of birth?" she asked.

"Shaun Murphy, October 5th, 1993."

"And your relationship to the patient?"

"His father. Wait—no, god no, I'm not his father, I'm his—his—I'm his guardian or whatever.

The receptionist stopped tapping on her keyboard and looked up at him incredulously. Dr. Glassman sighed in exasperation. "It's not like that, I just…I've been taking care of him since he was fourteen, and I can't really call him my foster child since he's not a child anymore, he's twenty. He's on my insurance card, just look it up." he explained hurriedly. The woman stood up without another word on the subject and waved Dr. Glassman into the double doors leading to the ER hallway. "Room 186," she said.

Though he'd walked these hallways many many times as a practicing physician at the hospital, tonight felt different. For the second time in his life, he'd received an urgent phone call from an emergency room saying they'd found his child far from home, unconscious, and in need of medical attention. He prayed silently to whoever would listen to him up in heaven that tonight didn't have the same outcome as his previous experience did many years ago. The moment he answered his phone (and thank god he was free to pick up the call at that second) and heard that Shaun was in trouble, he headed straight to the airport, picked up a red-eye flight to Casper from San Jose, and sped straight to the hospital. There wasn't a minute to spare. Not for something like this.

There it was, room 186. Dr. Glassman burst into the room and pulled the curtain back frantically. Two RNs and a physician assistant were standing at bedside, apparently in the middle of some sort of procedure. "Shaun!" he said aloud, rushing to the small boy buried under several blankets with an aluminum sheet over him as well. He was pale, so pale. He had oxygen running in his nose. His bluish lips were murmuring something inaudible, though his eyes were closed. "Oh my god," Dr. Glassman gasped out, still trying to catch his breath from running before. "What…what happened?" The physician assistant glanced at the nurses before speaking. "EMS got a call from a farmer in Greensville about three hours ago saying that he'd seen someone collapse in his field, and when he went to see what was going on, he found Shaun completely unconscious. He had no coat, no shoes, no socks, he was freezing. He went into hypothermia and collapsed but when he fell he apparently must've hit his head on a rock or something, because it's kind of a mess on his right lateral posterior plate." Dr. Glassman took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. Hypothermia? Concussion? Why the hell was Shaun that far from home and wearing hardly anything to keep him warm? He reached out and pulled on the sheets to get a hold of Shaun's hand. But suddenly, he noticed something.

Dr. Glassman stared down at the bed in shock, confusion, and anger. "Why does he have wrist restraints on?" he asked. The physician assistant paused before speaking. "His medical records indicated he has autism." she stated. Dr. Glassman's blood boiled. "So you put him in restraints? Because he has autism?"

"Because we were uncertain about his mental state, I put a restraint order in just in case he woke up from unconsciousness and became combative."

"Isn't his IV of propofol keeping him unconscious? You've got him on propofol _and_ you put him in restraints?"

"It's protocol for trauma patients with a history of mental illness—"

"Autism is not a mental illness, ok? Did you skip your neurology rotation when you were in medical school?! Hm?! Get him out of these god damn restraints right now!"

"Sir, please lower your voice. It's for his own safety—"

"I'm _not_ going to allow you to treat him like a patient who belongs in a psych ward, ok?! This is unjust and it violates patient rights!"

"Tell me, does someone who's in their right mind run away from home in ten degree weather at night and not stop until they physically collapse because they aren't wearing any warming clothing?!" the physician assistant firmly bit.

Dr. Glassman didn't speak. He bit down on his lip and looked away from her intense gaze. A moment passed before he hissed, "Either stop the IV propofol, or take off the wrist restraints. As his legal guardian and power of attorney, I'm making the decision to have one or the other removed." Without another word, the physician assistant reached out and stopped the IV machine. The white fluid drip halted immediately and the line began clearing slowly. Dr. Glassman stared at Shaun's empty face as the provider left the room. One of the nurses used a temporal scanner on the boy's forehead to read his temperature. "Is your wife coming?" she asked timidly. Dr. Glassman looked up with a puzzled expression. She motioned towards Shaun. "I-It's just that…we've been watching what his lips are trying to say and…I don't know, it just kind of looks like he's saying 'mama' over and over again." He turned his attention to the boy now, paying mind to exactly what Shaun's lips were trying to say. He was weak, and definitely probably confused. But there was something he kept trying to repeat constantly. It was unclear though. And with no voice or sound from his throat, it was impossible to read.

Just a few minutes later, the propofol began wearing off of Shaun and his eyes were slowly opening and closing. His head was bandaged where he struck the rock. His vision swam. Dr. Glassman dimmed the overheard bed lights so it wouldn't hurt the boy's eyes as he came to. Heart still hammering from the overwhelming rush of adrenaline, Dr. Glassman couldn't help but feel so upset that Shaun would behave this way. He had no idea what could've possibly set him off in such a way. As the boy woke slowly, he turned his head slightly to face his mentor. "Are…you…mad at…me?" he squeaked out in a barely audible hoarse whisper. Dr. Glassman leaned over the bedrails and traced the wrist restraints with his hand. "I'm not mad at you, Shaun." he murmured back. Shaun was clearly still affected and zoned out from the drugs. He was looking at Dr. Glassman and trying to focus his hazy vision. Dr. Glassman leaned down and gave the top of his head a gentle stroke. "I'm livid." he finished. Shaun let his eyes fall closed. Even in his distanced state, he knew he was going to have a lot of explaining to do. And much of it, he couldn't even rationalize himself.


	20. Elopement

Shaun watched as closely as he could—the nurse was changing the bag on his IV and it piqued his interest. Everything just felt so slow, hazy, fuzzy. Dr. Glassman was asking the nurse questions, holding a paper flyer she'd just given to him and arguing about its usefulness. Shaun's eyelids drooped a bit and he laid his head back against the pillow. What had just happened? "How long was he technically unconscious?" he heard Dr. Glassman ask. When the nurse gave her answer, Shaun felt his heart rate begin to pick up again. Emmie—he never made it to the bridge. What if she'd been there? What if she'd already jumped? Confused and anxious, Shaun tried to reach out to Dr. Glassman with one hand and with the other, tried to push away the oxygen tubes from his nose. _Clang!_ His arms stopped mid-level, held back by the restraints. "For God's sake, can you please get these damn things off of him?" he heard Dr. Glassman growl. But Shaun didn't feel quite right still. His heart was beating like crazy, he was sweating, everything looked shaky—suddenly he felt his stomach squeeze. He was going to be sick. Dry heaving, he sat forward and shook his hands in the restraints. The nurse grabbed a small bin on the bedside table. She held it in front of him as he threw up. Dr. Glassman reached over and moved the oxygen tubes out of the way so he could gently wipe Shaun's nose and mouth with a tissue. The nurse threw the bin away and removed her gloves. "I'll bring something to help with the nausea." she informed the pair. After she stepped out of the room, Dr. Glassman let out a sigh as he looked upon his tired, ill boy. What had he been thinking? Why did he run away from home in such a hurry? How did—

A soft knock resonated from the open door. A thin young woman stood there, peeking shyly into the room. "Shaun Murphy?" she asked. "Yes," Dr. Glassman answered for him. She pulled a small rolling cart into the room with her as she stepped forward. "My name is Katelyn and I'm from the lab. Just need to get some bloodwork from you." she introduced herself. Dr. Glassman curiously watched how she very gently approached Shaun, gave him a warm smile, then reached for his arm to check his identification band. "Can you tell me your date of birth?" she asked. Shaun's eyes were still heavy, but he managed to stammer out his correct birthday. She thanked him. Dr. Glassman cleared his throat as she set up her set of needles and evacuated test tubes. "What are they um…what are they testing for?" he inquired. She glanced at her computer screen. "Just a basic Chem7, a ferritin, and an ammonia."

"Didn't he have blood drawn in the ER? He's got the bandage on his arm still."

"Yes, the ER always draws a full rainbow upon admit. But his doctor requested a recollect on the Chem7 from earlier, and it looks like the other two orders just went in a few minutes ago."

"It's Dr. Steiner, right? His pediatrician?"

"…Isn't the patient twenty years old?"

"Y-Yes, but…his pediatrician here agreed to see him until he was twenty-one."

"It's ordered by the attending emergency room physician, it looks like."

Dr. Glassman decided to hold his questions when he saw the girl approaching Shaun with the needle. "Hey Shaun," she said gently. "I need you to stay really still for me, ok? I'm just drawing some blood for your tests." Shaun turned his blurred vision to look at her. "W-What…tests?" he stammered.

"A basic metabolic panel, a ferritin panel, and an ammonia concentration."

"A-A…mmonia?"

"Yeah, it tells us if your kidneys and liver are working ok."

Shaun seemed to contemplate this. His brain felt like it was trudging through mud. Dr. Glassman reached over and put a hand on the top of the arm the lab tech was sanitizing to keep Shaun still. "Too much ammonia in the bloodstream causes confusion, unusual tiredness, coma…" he explained. Anything to keep Shaun's anxious mind preoccupied so he wouldn't freak out at the slight stick he was about to feel. Shaun looked up at him, soaking up every word of the medical explanation. "And ferritin is the measurement of how much iron is in your body, which tells the doctors if you have anemia—"

"Aaahh…" Shaun winced at the sudden pain of the needle entering his left arm.

"Shhh shhh shhh….keep listening here. Keep listening to me. We're almost done." Dr. Glassman encouraged. It didn't take much time to collect the three tubes of blood, but it certainly felt like a while. The lab worker quickly removed her needle and bandaged up Shaun's arm. "Great job," she complimented. "Good listening to your dad," Shaun shook his head against the pillow. "He's…not my father…I hate…fathers." he stated. Dr. Glassman felt a smile tug on his lips. He kindly waved off the girl's profuse apologies, telling her not to worry. Blushing, she hurried out of the room.

Once they were finally alone, Dr. Glassman moved his chair a little closer to Shaun's bed. He sighed. "Shaun…what were you thinking?" he asked softly. "You're…you're smarter than this. You know not to go running out in the cold with practically nothing on. You know that. Why the hell would you….Shaun, I…I can't understand this one." The boy didn't speak. Dr. Glassman patiently waited a long time for an answer. He received none. Only a stray tear falling from Shaun's eye. "One of my patients…committed suicide." he finally admitted.

"Is that what this is about? Did you…you didn't want to…to…do that as well…right?"

"I-I didn't. But…but I think…Emmie does."

"What? That girl you work with? The one I _told_ you not to get involved with?"

"S-She is…in a bad situation…"

"You don't have to be the hero, Shaun. It isn't your job to save her. She's an adult, she has her own choices to make. Ok? We talked about this. You can't push her or influence her. If there's going to be any change in her circumstance it's got to _come from her_. Not you."

"S-She is my friend."

"It doesn't matter. It's not your place to try and fix her life for her. Some people you can't fix. Can't change them. And you shouldn't! You're overstepping boundaries. Pick a woman who doesn't come with so many complications. Someone that makes life easier instead of harder. Didn't you think that phlebotomist was kind of cute?"

"W-What…if Emmie…ends her life?"

"Shaun, you know her. She's stronger than that. Of course it's ok to check in on her wellbeing and mental health. But you can't become obsessed with trying to save her when realistically she might not even feel comfortable with that. Shaun…every guy wants to be the knight in shining armor to a girl he likes. It's a tough lesson to learn but…sometimes it doesn't work out that way."

Shaun had tears rolling down his face steadily now. He realized he may have jumped the gun in thinking Emmie was going to commit suicide. But…he just…god he just wanted to do for her what Steve did for him. Steve would be so proud up in heaven. Yet he'd let him down again. Dr. Glassman sighed softly. He used the bedside controls to raise the head of the stretcher so that as Shaun cried, the tears could drain and not get caught in the oxygen tubes. When Shaun was finally in a relaxed sitting position, Dr. Glassman stood up and sat beside him, setting his arm around his shoulders. "I know," he murmured. "It's tough Shaun. Believe me, I know. I know how powerless it makes you feel to be unable to help someone you care about who's in a downward spiral." He leaned back against the padding of the bed. Shaun slightly leaned his head onto Dr. Glassman's shoulder. "You're a good person. You just want to help people." Dr. Glassman murmured. "I'm just…angry that the world breaks your innocence over and over again."

As much as it hurt him to see Shaun in emotional pain that he was unable to understand, Dr. Glassman knew lessons like these would only shape Shaun into a kinder, gentler man someday. He needed to learn how to cope. Therapy wasn't an option—one session gone wrong definitely ruined that chance for him. But he just had to find a way to get his mind off of the misdemeanors of the world and shut it all out. He glanced down after some time. Shaun was dozing off faintly, his tired eyes closing in spite of his control. Reaching over to the bedside table, Dr. Glassman picked up the flyer the nurse had given to him earlier—the one he'd argued about with her. Though he swore to her that he didn't need it, and that it wasn't her place to judge Shaun's capabilities, he gave it some thought and decided to maybe give it a read. Maybe he wasn't the one who needed it. Maybe Shaun did. In the dimmed lights of that hospital room, Dr. Glassman picked up the flyer in one hand and kept his other arm around Shaun's shoulder. Until he too dozed off from exhaustion, he studied the article titled "Autism and Elopement".


	21. Unplanned

**Sorry it took so long to write this. I've been very sick and working so much. I hope you like this chapter because I wanted it to serve as a huge inspiration for Shaun and kind of an introspective search for his purpose. Thank you for reading.**

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She sat across from him, looking down at the paper cup of tea that was wrapped in her thin fingers. There was stillness. Quiet. Something that seemed out of place for a busy hospital. He couldn't really look at her, but at the same time he couldn't look away. He wasn't sure how to describe this feeling. There was nothing bittersweet about it—it was sad, it was maddening, it just wasn't fair. Emmie took a breath. "I should get going," she murmured. "Five more minutes." Shaun said abruptly. Another silence. She let out a sigh, raising her eyes up to the ceiling as she explained, "This isn't doing any good. It won't stop anything." Shaun stared off distantly as if he hadn't heard her, though he knew that what she said was true. He was definitely stalling things. But why shouldn't he? "You have more time to think." he replied simply.

"The thinking is over. I can't…I'm not going to leave him."

"He hurts you."

"He'll change, he promised that he would already."

"He had time to change and did not."

"Things are different now, Shaun."

Shaun had to stop talking—the emotions were beginning to make his brain feel jumpy and overwhelmed. He was having trouble coping with this being the end of Emmie's last shift at the hospital before she moved away with her boyfriend to Arizona. The sudden need for a change of scenery came about quickly, unexpectedly. When she'd told Shaun just a few days prior, he didn't handle the news well. So to make their last time together well spent, Emmie suggested they get something to eat after work that night and say their goodbyes then. While the plan made sense on paper to Shaun, he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that his friend, his only real friend at the hospital, was leaving to be with someone that didn't treat her right. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her; they buzzed and jumped and twirled and flew around in his head and he desperately was trying to catch just one and force it out of his mouth to at least have _some_ reason as to why…

Emmie put her elbow on the table and held her face with her hand. "It's hard to explain," she said, still not looking at him. "It's just different. Things are going to be better."

"W-What is it about Arizona that will make things better?" Shaun asked. He wanted to phrase that better, but the words eluded him.

"It's not Arizona in particular. It's just…things. Situations. I don't really…have a choice anymore. You know, in staying or leaving. I need to stay with him."

"W-W…Why?"

"If I tell you, you're going to get even more worked up and you're going to leave here and never speak to me again. Or you're going to run off and do something else stupid and dangerous like when you went running out looking for me. Either way, you're going to be mad at me, Shaun. I…I don't to end this like that."

"I'm…already mad at you for leaving."

"…Thanks for the honesty. Ok…just…Shaun, I'm…I'm pregnant."

Shaun felt like something weighed down heavily onto his chest. Almost immediately, she began bursting with excuses and explanations and frantic rationalizations to try and make sense of it, but Shaun could hardly hear her anymore. "—an accident. Ok that sounds harsh, but…it was _unplanned_. But it's ok now," she went on. "things are going to be much better. A baby might be exactly what we need to fix the things in our relationship. It'll bring us closer." As Shaun processed her reasoning, he couldn't stop his eyes from stinging and his face from burning red. Too many memories. This was strange—he didn't know how to tell her that her plan wasn't going to work out well. Emmie sighed. "See? This is why I didn't say anything to you. It's making you upset."

"D-Do…you believe in abortions?" Shaun abruptly interrupted.

"That isn't really a question you should just come right out and ask someone, Shaun."

"I…was an accident. I was unplanned. My dad married my mom when she found out I was growing inside of her. They…were not in love. It showed. I knew it every day. I was a fussy baby. I made things harder on them. They fought a lot. They decided…to have my brother. He was a good baby. When I grew up and my mom and dad fought, my dad said he wished I hadn't been born so that he wouldn't have had to marry her."

Emmie was silent now, staring down at her cup to hide the tears forming. Shaun took a pause, but then reached into his pocket to pull out his toy scalpel and hold it in his hand. "I…always thought my parents were unhappy because of me. I thought that for fourteen years. My brother and I ran away and he told me it wasn't my fault. Dr. Glassman says it wasn't my fault either. But sometimes…sometimes I still wish I wasn't born, because then my parents would have been happy and Steve wouldn't be dead." Emmie wiped her face with her hand. "Don't say that, Shaun." she whispered through her tears. Shaun went back through his head past all of the memories and bouncing emotions to take a glance at a visual of a study he'd read in a maternal and child health publication a few months prior in his research. "Babies need to grow up in a stable home." he recited. "They have better communication, higher pediatric literacy, better nutrition, and stronger development in milestones." Emmie sighed and rubbed her temples. "I know, I know." she said in frustration. "But what can I do? I have nowhere to go, no money without him, no family left to turn to. I have to give this relationship a chance because if I don't, I might not be giving things the opportunity to turn around. And then I'll live a life of regret."

Another silence fell again, both of them trying not to show the other that they were crying. After a long pause of no talking, Shaun opened his mouth again. "I'm not good at social situations." he faintly stated. "But…I am good at fixing problems. Like an arterial bleed or dislodged indwelling catheter or a misaligned tendon. I want to fix problems." Emmie reached across the table and put her hand on his, causing him to draw back slightly at the foreign contact. "Stick with arterial bleeds, dislodged indwelling catheters, and misaligned tendons. That's the easy stuff." With a sad smile, Emmie stood up from her chair and gathered her belongings. Shaun followed suit. He didn't want to, but eventually the time would have to come to an end and Emmie would have to leave. They walked slowly to the front entrance of the hospital together. At the sliding doors, Emmie stopped and faced Shaun. "Thanks for trying to help, though." she said softly. "You were the only one. And it meant a lot." Shaun darted his eyes away to avoid the awkward meeting of a gaze in a situation he knew nothing about proper reactions for. "Y-You taught me a lot here." he said. Emmie gave another sad smile. "The most important thing I want you to have learned is…that you just keep doing what you're doing. Be yourself. Exactly as you are. Because even though it doesn't seem like it…you've got all the qualities of a good doctor. You really do, Shaun. Just…don't change anything about yourself."

Emmie moved in a little closer. "I know you said you're saving this for a real, special relationship, but…can I just give you a kiss goodbye? Only on the cheek, I swear. So it doesn't count as like your 'first' or whatever." she asked. Shaun froze. It felt like all of the blood drained completely out of his body—he had no idea how to respond or what to think or how to answer or if he even should answer or—

He didn't have to. Emmie stood up on her toes, leaned in, and pressed a gentle kiss on his right cheek. The sensation left his heart pounding so hard it felt like his ribs might break. He had no lung capacity left to breathe. Time had stopped. Emmie gave him one more smile, a pat on the arm, and then she turned to start her walk to the parking garage. Shaun watched her go. His cheek tingled from the contact, his fingers were numb. He let out a sigh as she disappeared from his view around the corner. He'd saved a few patient lives himself before. He'd helped nurses in saving others. But he hadn't been able to save Steve, or his bunny, and now Emmie. The disease that took them all from him was violence—something there was no easy treatment for, no vaccine prevention, no symptoms until it was too late. At least he'd done everything he could to try to get her away from her situation. Shaun sank down onto the bench outside, head still reeling from the kiss. He closed his eyes while waiting for the bus to come pick him up and bring him home. In his pocket, his phone buzzed once; a text message. He opened it up to read a text from Dr. Glassman: _did you say your goodbyes?_ Shaun thought for a moment before answering, then immediately began typing away as fast as he could when the right idea hit him:

 _I want to start an early application to medical school. I want to save as many lives as possible._


	22. Fast

Shaun nervously twisted the little string that was hanging off the collar of his jacket as he watched the scenery fly by his window. It was a Saturday, one of the first in April. "Hey, hey," Dr. Glassman redirected from the driver's seat. "Let it go. No nervousness today." Shaun's fingers twitched a bit as he interpreted this command. Dr. Glassman gave a slight chuckle and gestured toward the road ahead of them. "Today's going to be all about fun. You need some fun, you deserve it. God, Shaun, you've been working your ass off for so long and now it's all done, it's all documented, and it's out of your hands. Right?" The man was smiling that same gentle smile that Shaun had loved over the years. He gave a little nod. "There's nothing more you can do about it. It's sent in, it's in a big pile with hundreds of other applications, and it's just waiting for its chance to blow them all out of the water as soon as it gets into the hands of an admissions director." Dr. Glassman went on. "No stressing today. No medicine. No healthcare-related discussions. Today is going to be a day where you and I have fun and eat a ton of fair food that could kill our arteries and clog up our livers but that's ok! Everyone needs a day like this sometimes."

Shaun looked back out the window as they drove. He wanted so firmly to believe that Dr. Glassman was right—that taking this Saturday off of work and going to the county fair would be fun and relaxing and a nice break. But he couldn't stop his own mind from reeling about the recent medical school application he'd sent in. The due date was technically two months from now. Eight weeks. His MCAT scores were in the 90th percentile while the recommended was the 75th percentile. His GPA was still a 4.0. Others might have slightly lower, but the acceptable was an average of 3.6. If he was still above average in both of those areas, he could be at a fifteen percent higher advantage than his peers at obtaining a spot in the medical school class. But because he had prior healthcare experience, and lots of it, that increased his chances of selection by another seven percent, at least. Combined, that meant he had to beat out thousands of applicants with similar scores, similar grades, similar healthcare experiences all for just a one in fifty chance of getting a seat in the program for—

Shaun jerked away when he felt Dr. Glassman's warm hand gently touch his arm, bringing him back into the present moment and out of his numerical whirlwind. Dr. Glassman sighed. "If you keep obsessing over it, you're going to drive yourself crazy." he said. "Let's think about something else. Let's think about…those slushies they had here last year—are you going to try a new flavor or do you think you're going to stick with grape still?"

"I…like grape."

"The usual. I get it, can't go wrong with what you know. I'm going to try the cherry one, myself."

Shaun absently gave his hands a little flap when he noticed the signs as they approached the fairgrounds. Dr. Glassman bit his lip to keep from giving one of those sad smiles. Here was this young man, so intelligent and complex, yet such an innocent little child on the inside that still got excited about things like carnivals and new teddy bears. He was a mystery. A neurological complexity that was both riveting and heartfelt. They parked the car out in the dusty field and made the walk towards the entrance none too quickly—they'd been through this before. Every year, actually. Ever since Shaun was fourteen. He stepped cautiously and kept an eye on his surroundings. There was a lot to take in from every single one of the five senses that were currently tingling and on full speed ahead to his brain for processing. The little kid roller coaster tracks clamored loudly as the brakes screeched across the metal; the carousel lights beamed rainbows in dotted lines up and down and then in a vortex as the ride spun and played that calliope tune; there was the smell of frying cake batter, burning French fries, melting sugary threads being spun into cotton candy; the air tasted of rust, metal, grease, hay; as a breeze ruffled Shaun's hair, it carried with it the fading chill of an ending spring with the hope of a warm upcoming summer. He dug his hand into his pocket and seized the small plastic scalpel tightly. This was all getting to be overwhelming….

Dr. Glassman noticed Shaun's apparent sensory shutdown and decided to redirect the focus on something that wouldn't be so difficult to take in as the front entrance of an entire fairground. He gently encouraged Shaun to follow him off to the right and check out the barnyard setup full of all kinds of animals. This was usually where they started, every year. A place away from the loud sounds, flashy lights, vibrant colors. It was a nice transition into the bustling environment. Shaun seemed to be immediately taking interest in looking at the goat pen. He beelined straight toward the fence in a hurry to get a better glimpse of the knock-kneed animals. Dr. Glassman struggled to keep up, and accidentally stepped in front of a woman taking a picture of her daughter. He apologized quickly, turning his back for a moment, and upon returning his focus to Shaun he saw that the boy had already had his hand inside the pen and was letting a baby goat suck on his finger. So innocently and happily, Shaun looked up with a smile. "It's…teeth are so small. Like Noodle's." Dr. Glassman gave a nod but cringed at the sight. "That's great. Go wash your hands. Twice, please."

After spending a _long_ time visiting all of the animals, Shaun and Dr. Glassman made their way over to the food vendors. "No pickles," Shaun reminded as they surveyed the menus. His older companion smiled. "I'll make sure," he said.

"You'll check?"

"I'll check."

Shaun followed the orders to tell Dr. Glassman what he wanted for food, but go to get a picnic table by himself so they could enjoy their food. There were families all around him as he waited—happy families. Families with little kids. Families with boys and girls. Older kids who were there in groups of friends. Kids his age who were drinking beer. Moms and dads. He remembered when Steve would help him win the games at the fair so that their dad wouldn't get angry that he was wasting money on more ring tosses or ball bottles. Shaun bit his lip at this memory to keep away the sad thoughts. His train of thought became derailed when Dr. Glassman approached his table with the tray of food in his hands. "Well, even though there's no such thing as a philly cheesesteak with pickles, I checked, and yours is clean." he reported, passing the plate over to the boy and settling his own in front of him. "This right here," he said with a chuckle. "makes me so glad I'm on an aspirin regimen." He tore off a piece of the sugary funnel cake between them and held it up. "A toast, to the future Doctor Shaun Murphy." Shaun felt himself start smiling, then made a similar gesture causing his friend to laugh. They dug into their long-awaited fair food.

A few tables away, a man began coughing loudly, causing Dr. Glassman to turn his head to look. "Ugh. Remind me to have us wash our hands again as soon as we leave here. These places are collections of human germs." he muttered. Shaun's attention was caught though. The man appeared to be choking. His wife, clearly unnerved, pounded on his back until the food came up. But something wasn't right. Shaun observed carefully as the wife was asking him questions—the man seemed distant, confused. He kept blinking to refocus his eyes. He put a hand on her shoulder and let the other one fall to his side. "Dysphagia…" Shaun murmured quietly. "Memory loss….trouble focusing….arm and leg numbness….speech difficulty…." Dr. Glassman swallowed his mouthful and looked at him quizzically. "What are you talking about?" Shaun watched the man's head bob slowly. "F-Fast…" he said. "F-Fast…fast…!" Dr. Glassman now leaned across the table. "Hey, are you ok, Shaun?"

"Fast! F…a-s-t. Facial drooping, arm or leg weakness, speech difficulty, time to call 911. He's not choking, he's having a stroke!"

Shaun leapt up from the picnic table and ran to the side of the woman and man. "You need to call 911." he stated to her. The bewildered woman looked at him confused and shocked. "H-He's having a stroke, he's having a stroke. Fast. F-a-s-t. He has all the signs." the boy explained. Dr. Glassman was now hurrying over calling his name too. The woman shook her head. "H-He can't be having a stroke…he's only thirty-four." she panted. Shaun looked at the man and saw that the left side eyelid was falling shut significantly—the left corner of his mouth was drooping to a frown. "S-Strokes can occur even in infancy. Your husband had difficulty swallowing otherwise known as dysphagia and he has arm numbness and now facial drooping and he doesn't have very long to wait so we n-need to call 911 now so that they can operate on him and remove the clot in the hospital!" Shaun articulated quickly. Dr. Glassman arrived and took a look at the patient, immediately giving a nod. He turned to the woman who was trying to calm her two young children that were now crying and asking what was happening to their daddy. "I'm a neurologist," he explained as calmly as he could. "Your husband might be having a blood clot in the right side of his brain and letting it go would cause tissue death and after that, it's too late. We need to call an ambulance. I'll do it from my phone, just take care of your kids." he assured. Shaun was wringing his hands. "Fast. Fast. Fast." he repeated.

Within minutes, the ambulance showed up. A crowd had gathered and watched as the paramedics strapped the man to a stretcher and pushed him into the truck. Dr. Glassman offered kind assurance and support to the crying, frightened woman who had just been thrown into bedlam. He helped her into the ambulance along with the kids, who he gave the rest of his funnel cake to so that they'd have something to occupy them during this terrifying time. The ambulance tore away from the fair. Sirens wailed. Lights flashed. Shaun still remained frozen to the ground where he'd initially knelt. "Fast, fast…" he went on. Dr. Glassman gently touched his shoulder, wishing the crowd would disperse at this point so that Shaun wouldn't feel like such a spectacle. "Hey," he murmured. "Hey come back to me," Shaun turned his focus upward to see his mentor, giving a tiny nod. "H-He…had facial drooping, arm weakness, speech difficulty and it w-was time to call 911." he said frantically. Dr. Glassman agreed. "Yes, yes, that's absolutely right. You had it right. Shaun, you…you did the right thing. You…you saved that man's life."

Shaun took deep breaths, trying to mentally recover from the chaos that had just broken out only minutes ago. "I…was…" he began, but stopped. Dr. Glassman nodded, letting a smile break. "Yeah, you were right." he encouraged. Shaun smiled briefly too, his hands giving a happy flap. "I-I…caught a stroke." he cried out. Dr. Glassman smiled proudly. "Yeah, you did. You did it, Shaun. You…all on your own." Shaun let out a big sigh, seemingly of relief. The pair made their way back to their table, where they sat down as Shaun repeated that he caught a stroke. Dr. Glassman held up his cherry slushie to Shaun. "To Doctor Shaun Murphy, and the first of many lives he will save." he said in a toast. Shaun took a deep breath. A smile erupted onto his face.


	23. Made it

**Sorry for the delay. Life has been crazy, and while I've been wanting to write, I just felt like I didn't have it in me. I hope that this will help to move the story along. Shaun's got a lot to learn and we're going to be there through all of it. I appreciate the support and love at this time.**

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Shaun walked along the sidewalk, away from the bus stop, towards the University of Wyoming—his new campus for medical school. Getting his acceptance letter was a day he would never forget. Even Dr. Glassman cried when he read it. Shaun was eager to start but absolutely terrified inside. Everything about the last six months felt like it flew by at breakneck speed; graduation, acceptance, preparing for school, working… It was a little bit too much. Especially when Dr. Glassman _insisted_ upon taking him to get new clothes at the mall that would make him appear more confident and professional. Shaun had spent an hour at least cutting all the tags out of his new shirts and pants the night before. New clothes were the worst. They smelled like store and they were starchy and not soft or worn and they looked boxy and weird at first. Shaun tugged at his collar a little bit. The more nervous he got, the more sensory overload threatened to take control over him.

Forty students. He was one out of thousands of applicants to join thirty-nine others in becoming the best doctor he could be. He wondered what they were going to be like. He hoped it wouldn't be like high school, where the kids were rude and rowdy and loud and _awful_ … No, calm down. Calm down. Shaun continued along the sidewalk, his backpack rustling with his stethoscope, notebooks, sweater, and pens inside. It had already been quite a long morning—the bus ride there took quite some time and a transfer at the station, but he had a feeling it was going to be worth it. For the first part of the ride, he slept. Anxious nerves had kept him awake for most of the night. He kept an alarm set on his phone for the precise moment the bus pulled into the station so that he could wake up and make it to the next bus on time. The second ride he spent checking and rechecking his backpack to ensure he had everything. Stethoscope, pens, notebooks, money, ID. Stethoscope, pens, notebooks, money, ID. Stethoscope, pens, notebooks, money, ID. Dr. Glassman had advised him to visit the bookstore on campus right after classes so that he could get a general idea how much he'd need to set aside for his books. He'd slipped a few extra dollars into Shaun's wallet so he could get a snack or something before the long ride home.

Shaun walked past the college of engineering building—it was becoming real now. The tall, flat structure ahead was the medical arts and health sciences building where he would be spending the next four years learning as a real MD student. Dr. Glassman had written out a list of questions he wanted answers to on a post-it note for Shaun to obtain as he attended his first day—questions such as when is the white coat ceremony, what hospital did most students do rounds at, were there campus credits, etc. It just felt like a lot. So many things to answer, a new campus, a new school, medical school…calm down! Shaun dug into his pocket and stopped walking on the sidewalk. He unfolded the cloth that concealed his toy scalpel—running his finger along the plastic blade, he took deep breaths. Steve would be proud. Well, he hoped. He'd shown the rest of the world what Steve had seen all along; that he was smart. That it was going to be alright for him.

At the doors of the medical arts building, Shaun stopped and took in the moment. He was here. He'd made it. He was going to become Dr. Shaun Murphy. As he reveled in his thoughts about how far things had come in his life, he felt someone come up behind him and tap his shoulder. He immediately flinched. A shorter girl stood before him, looking a bit confused, but she went on with her question anyway. "Do you know where they're holding the Diagnostics II class this semester?" she asked. She had big glasses and straight hair—the white coat hanging on her arm gave away that she too was part of an advanced medical program here. Nervously, Shaun shook his head—he didn't even know where his own class was! The girl bit her lip. "Ok, sorry. Thanks anyway." she said, turning and walking towards a directional sign.

Shaun gulped. He didn't know where his class was either. How was he going to get there if he didn't even know where to go? His heart rate picked up—everything about the building suddenly seemed like it grew fifty feet larger and twenty times more intense. Someone else came up to Shaun on the other side this time, also startling him out of his thoughts. It was another girl. Taller, but no white coat. "Are you in the MD first year matriculation?" she asked. Hesitantly (and still shocked), Shaun nodded. "Y-Yes." he stammered. She nodded. "Cool. We're all supposed to meet at the Timothy Young lecture hall on the first floor, it looks like. Well, the welcome letter says so. It's this way—I had an anatomy class in it when I was a sophomore. And by the way, stay away from those PA students. They're ruthless. They'll kill you if you get a better test score than them." The girl nodded in the direction of the lost girl with glasses. Shaun looked after her. There certainly was a lot to learn here.

Shaund followed the student who knew where she was going until they got to the doors of the lecture hall. There, she met with a friend and became occupied talking with her. Shaun carefully entered the lecture hall and was greeted by a few nods from some professors. He sat down by himself on the side with the fewest amount of people and took out his notebook. Stethoscope, notebooks, pens, money, ID. It was all still there. As he looked around and took in the students like him, he touched the scalpel in his pocket. He hoped Steve could see him from Heaven here in his first ever medical school class. He took his phone out—he'd promised Dr. Glassman he'd let him know when he was safely at the school and in the right place. He quickly texted a message: _I made it._ And looking at that message, he realized with relief that it had more than one meaning.


End file.
